The Song of the Beast
by If You Give A Duck Chocolate
Summary: Sometime after leaving Rose on the beach and his quick meeting with Donna on Christmas, the Doctor crashes onto a mysterious island—which seems like paradise. Another plane crashes on the island, and he begins to meet the survivors, a group of boys. But each boy he talked to had mysteriously died. And the echoing melody in his head wasn't helping either.
1. Crashing

Chapter 1: Crashing

In the whirring outreaches of space, in the twisting colors of the galaxies as they intertwine in a song—perhaps the sound of the universe as it sings creation—there is a traveler. The stars blink and twinkle as planets spin around them in a dance as old as time itself. The universe—both the known and the unknown—is both the creator and the body of the many beings that reside in it. But it is not perfect. No, it is far from perfect. It has cracks and gaps where things fall through. Irrelevant things. Important things. All sorts of things. Perhaps no one knows this better than the traveler.

The last of his kind and always lonely was the last Time Lord. He was doomed to travel through time and space, protecting the world as his kind had always done. Alone, he was always alone, even when he had his companions. Then they would always leave him, willingly or not, and they always would. They couldn't help it. They would leave him with his blue box. And it would be like that for a while. Him and his TARDIS, his Time And Relative Dimension In Space. They would be whirling around, the perfect blue of the police box contrasting with the brilliant colors of the stars as they traveled. For he was her Doctor, she his TARDIS.

Now and then he felt like he belonged. He had his companions and it felt nice, like home. It makes him happier than he had been for a long time. But they leave him to himself, and he always has to find new ones. He knows when he gets a new companion that they would eventually leave him, but his mind is still latched onto the idea that one of them might stay with him forever. He had thought that maybe _she_ would. He had especially liked her. But no. Her disappearance was one that felt like it had cut off one of his hearts and thrust it out to her. The only thing that he had learned from her disappearance into that other Earth was that there were those damned cracks in the universe that leads to another parallel universe. It was awful, quite _awful_ that he had to find out that there were holes and gaps because of her disappearance. Rose, _Rose_. Even her name sent shivers through his body. And when Donna had rejected his invitation, it crushed him even more. He thought he'd finally found a friend, but she brushed him off to the side like he was nothing. He was greedy and selfish. He wanted them to stay with him. Forever. And Rose—oh _Rose_—had promised she would. But then the Daleks and the Cybermen and the parallel universe had come and ruined everything. And when he contacted her, she told him she loved him. And he was going to tell her he loved her too, but he was cut off. The worst timing. It was settled. The universe hated him.

A shock rocked the TARDIS, jolting the Doctor out of his thoughts. "Woah there. What's going on? Everything should be alright. Systems are in balance. There aren't any more leftover huon particles in someone or something that would attract them to the TARDIS anymore, is there?"

The rocking slowed, and the Doctor remarked, "Well, if that's all for today then I think I want a bit of a change of atmosphere. Perhaps Twen—"

But he was interrupted by a sudden flicker of the lights in the TARDIS. The systems overheated and crashed. The Doctor scurried around, trying to help her regain control over her various systems, but too late, too slow. The TARDIS spiraled down to Earth, crashing into the nearest time period and land mass. The Doctor knew that much before the TARDIS hit the ground violently and his head was knocked against the floor, rendering him unconscious.

_~Later~_

The Doctor drowsily got up. He moaned as he righted himself, the world spinning in a furious whirl of colors. He gripped the edge of one of the TARDIS' consoles to try to right himself up. His blood pounded in his head with the unique four beat rhythm unique to the two hearted Time Lords. But that made everything worse. The extra pounding in his head was another thing to add to his list of injuries in addition to the bruises he got when he fell onto the floor just before he hit unconsciousness. After a few tense minutes the Doctor spent holding the edge of console, he was able to walk fairly well enough to check on the TARDIS. Steadying himself with one hand, he shifted around the main room, checking the systems, which blinded him with flashing lights. He found them all broken down and unusable—at least for the time being. He was stuck on there then—but wait, where _was _there. What _was_ outside the TARDIS?

The Doctor crept towards the door, peeking out of the window of the TARDIS (he didn't see much but some greenery, which helped a _lot_, thank you very much window). He sighed. He supposed he'd have to actually open the door. He opened it slowly and gingerly took a step out. His Converse clad foot hit moist dirt as the hot air sweating with moisture hit him like a refrigerator. He opened the door wider, marveling at the wild rain forest that lay out before him. He took another step out, closing the TARDIS door behind him, continuing to ogle at the jungle—which at the same time intrigued and frightened him. A group of pigs rushed passed him, their pink hides spotted with the mud they trod upon. He laughed. It was so peaceful here. This was certainly some place he could heal. There was no grief here, nothing to worry about. He didn't have to save the world from some alien or the other. The jungle seemed prehistoric; perhaps he had gotten away from humanity then. For once, he was glad about that. The Doctor glanced around, marveling the flowers dotting the greenery with their warm tonalities. He took tentative steps around the TARDIS, still slightly wary of danger. Satisfied with the lack of danger, he walked off, marking the place where the TARDIS was parked (crashed, more specifically) in his memory.

Strolling through the forest he saw many types of bugs (many which sidetracked him, including one sort of beetle that he stared at for a good minute or two), more pigs, and lots and lots of trees (of various kinds). He deemed that the forest was safe and free of danger (although the pigs might be a problem and he saw a few poisonous bugs and berries). He decided to see what was outside of the forest. Deducing that the best way to get outside of the forest, he retraced his steps back to the TARDIS and set off in one direction. Within a few minutes, the Doctor had reached a beach. Well, that was a bit unexpected. The smooth beach was much like the forest in that they were both like Heaven on Earth. He felt his jaw dropping. There was no way that such a beautiful area, with its sparkling ocean-green waters and its white powder fine sand, could be undiscovered by humans. Ah, humans. They were such a wonderful race at times, but at other times, they could be the most evil, destructive beings in the universe. The Doctor looked around and could see that the land seemed to wrap around the edge of his peripheral vision. Writing a large X on the ground to mark where he had started (and in which direction was the TARDIS), he started off. He seemed confident and lively as he started a few steps beyond the X (his stride was long judging by the way some people had to jog to catch up to him), before he tripped on something stuck on the sand. The sand seemed to love his coat, which he had to admit, was not at all suited to this weather. Oh how he loved his coat, his beautiful coat. And his shoes. His red Converse. The sand seemed to love that too. Well, he supposed that the sand couldn't actually love his garments, but it seemed to at least be physically attracted. Sand seemed to have gotten into every possible area. The sand scratched at his skin as he got up.

He heaved himself up, plopping himself down upon the sand. He picked up the offending item, some sort of container. Well, perhaps not a container, per se, but some sort of containment item. Sort of like a message in a bottle. How ironic, he thought. The object looked like some sort of rock, but it had an artificial touch to it. He deemed that it was no normal object, but some sort of contraption that could be alien in origin. Or from someplace other than this godforsaken island. Excitedly, he searched for a way to open it. He was sure he could open it. The Doctor ran his hands up and down the object, feeling it for any secret openings and/or handles. Cursing his forgetfulness, he pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver. At least now he knew it wasn't wood. He heard a click and with childish glee (and to think he was nearly a thousand years old) he reached in to find some sort of note. It looked like a set of instructions.

_Upon Arrival:_

_-Hide. They are not allowed to see you. No matter what. They aren't allowed to know._

_-Observe them. Don't let them kill each other. But don't be seen._

_-Find food and shelter and wait for him. He will come for them._

_-When and if he comes send word. We will come to your aid and we will successfully capture him._

_-If within a year he does not come, contact us and we will return you back to base. Good Luck._

The Doctor looked at the list. It was obvious that he was not meant to be the recipient. Someone was supposed to receive it. Here, on this island. The note also mentioned "they" as in a group of people. But who are they? He didn't know. And who was the "he" they had mentioned. Someone will come to the island, but _who_? He had so many questions. He looked at the container and flipped it around. Nothing. He looked at the old and weathered piece of paper. There was nothing special about—Wait! He had flipped the page over and found some sort of pattern or logo that had been etched on the paper but was almost gone. The image consisted of letters and honeycomb-like shapes:

The Doctor peered at the image. It looked familiar, but it was too faded to be more recognizable. He slipped it into his coat pocket, regardless of the sand (both on his coat and on the blasted thing). According to the note (if that could be believed), something important was going to happen. A group of people would be coming to the island. For whatever reason, the thought of that sent a chill down the Doctor's back (despite the lovely warm weather). He didn't particularly want to interact with people right now, and judging by the set of instructions, these people would be viscous and very animalistic. What sort of people were they. Perhaps they weren't even humans at all. Maybe they were some sort of alien species. Very possible. He supposed his little holiday "jaunt" (if you could call the crash landing of the TARDIS that) wouldn't be so peaceful anymore. Of course, after Rose and Donna, he didn't want to have to save the world again. Like that one line in _The Incredibles_ (Rose had made him watch that movie with her), "No matter how many times you save the world, it always manages to get back in jeopardy again. Sometimes I just want it to stay saved! You know, for a little bit? I feel like the maid; I just cleaned up this mess! Can we keep it clean for... for ten minutes?" That was brilliant. Of course, Rose was always brilliant. Until she got stuck in another world—

"No, I won't think of that," The Doctor said aloud. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Thoughts of her always made him alone and empty. She had been there, for most of his previous regeneration and now, most of this current one. He felt like there was something like a hole in his heart.

He kicked the sand at his feet. No more thinking of her, he told himself. There was nothing he could do. It would be selfish of him to demand her and take her out of a comfortable parallel world to just be with him. No, he could not do that to her. He couldn't. He loved her too much. She has a family now. A mother. And even a father after long years without having him around. Because he had been dead. Until they had discovered the parallel world. He couldn't take that all away from her. He pushed back the rising thoughts about trying to access the alternate Earth, knowing that it would be effortless.

He took his anger out on a nearby rock, kicking it until his foot hurt. He wasn't doing anybody good by kicking the rock. The poor rock. It was probably wondering what it had done to anger the last Time Lord in existence. If it could think. Perhaps it was some sort of undeveloped organism. It was quite possible. The Doctor took one last moment to strike the boulder with his shoe before shuffling off, hands in his pockets, to explore the land mass, which he was confident was an island.

The land mass, he discovered after what seemed like a half an hour, was indeed an island, and a relatively small island at that. How brilliant. He gazed at the calm natural pool of sea water just a few minutes off from his little X. To the Doctor, it seemed like such a tranquil area. But soon it wouldn't be, according to the bloody note. At least, he pondered, he had a warning. Imagine if some day in the future, if that day conceded with the days he was stuck on the island thanks to the TARDIS, the beings appeared. He wouldn't know what was going on. But perhaps, ignorance is bliss. At least, for the time being. Now he was constantly worried. About how these beings were going to appear. He sighed. Dusting off the sand for what felt like the hundredth time, he started off in the direction of his X and the TARDIS.

_~ Later~_

The Doctor sat on top of a rock on the mountain, which he decided to climb the day after his crash. He had no idea how long he had been up there. In fact, he had no idea there was a mountain until he had gazed up into the sky as he walked back to the TARDIS that first day. From there he saw the whole island. He felt like he could control everything from the rock was sitting on. He saw odd pink rocks at one end of the island, and he thought he might have seen a bit of the bright blue that was his TARDIS in the jungle (but he had probably been imagining that, there was no logical way that he could have seen the TARDIS). He felt powerful, sitting on the rock, watching the sun rise across the horizon. It must have been hours that he sat there, contemplating everything (in actuality it had been an hour and fifty-two minutes). As he sat there, he saw something in the sky. Could it be…?

"No, it's just another bird," he told himself aloud. He was just being paranoid after that note. But then again, that would have to be a large bird. An extremely large bird that had feathers of red and gold. He could almost believe that it was a crashing airplane. Humans could not have developed those flying machines yet. The island was so natural. Had it been the time of human airplanes, the island would have surely been bought and sold to some manufacturing company who in turn built a factory on the island that would destroy the entire ecosystem. Probably some sort of alien technology, the Doctor decided. If it was an aircraft. After all, it could be a phoenix. Perhaps Fawkes.

He shook his head. Oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't a bird. It was an aircraft. Perhaps that is how those beings would come to be on the island. It was odd. How could the ship be the one bringing those people to the island? It was crashing, and fast. And there was no one here besides him. His brain raced to calculate all the possibilities.

"Oh bloody hell," he swore.

Someone was supposed to come and find the note. In the object. He took it out of his pocket. He placed it closed to his ear and shook it. He could hear something banging against the container. He used his sonic screwdriver (at least he remembered this time) to open it. This time, the object did not open up to reveal a (slightly) tattered note, but split into unequal halves. In the bigger half, he saw a pulsing light. He scooped up the offending object. Rectangular in shape, the light pulsed slowly and a tiny beat could be heard from it (no, it was not a horcrux).

"It's a locater," he murmured. "But what for. More importantly, who was tracking it?"

He stared at it for a second before chucking it down the mountain side into the dense jungle. It could have easily been tracking him. He couldn't take any chances. For all he knew, some alien antagonist was out to get him and then take over the world—or the universe—_again_.

As he threw the tracker down the mountainside, his back had been turned away from the crashing plane. The Doctor forgot that plane as he smirked at the fact that he had outsmarted his opponents before they could try to kill him and take over the world (finally, they always seemed to be intent on making his job as savior of the universe horrible). He stumbled and almost flew face forward down the back of the mountain as the plane crashed and slid many meters into the forest, obliterating much of the shrubbery and forestry that had once occupied that space. The Doctor winced. So many living things destroyed. And thus, he concluded that it must be a human contraption. Humans had such a knack for killing innocent things. And forgetting themselves in their greed.

He righted himself, giddy that he did not fall this time. Brilliant, he thought. For once his luck had not run out on him. He laughed. He looked up into the heavens and laughed again. He felt sorry for the poor humans down there. Just over a day on the island and he was already mad. There was something about the oddly serene nature about the island. And of course, right then the sentiment underneath his shoes had to slip. It just had to, as if something or someone was out there, laughing at him singing its joyous little song (perhaps it was the island itself, it didn't seem like such a normal island).

"Bloody hell," he cursed. This was going to hurt, he thought before he stumbled down the mountain side, eventually losing consciousness.


	2. The Boy with the Mulberry Bookmark

Chapter 2: The Boy with the Mulberry Birthmark

The Doctor groaned as he woke up to find the sky growing ever so darker. He had absolutely no bloody idea where the hell he was, or where the TARDIS was. To make matters worse, he was _still_ covered with sand in addition to the mud, leaves, and other questionable items. He was not having a good time. So much for paradise, he thought. There was surely some force messing with him here. He wouldn't be especially surprised if the island turned out to be some sort of alien species he had forgotten about at this rate.

He whipped his head up as he heard some leaves crunching towards his left. Perhaps he would have been more successful if he had been fully rested and not recovering from an involuntary jaunt down the mountain. Bloody hell that had hurt. But of course, he fell face forward _again_ and landed himself on the ground once more. He was done for. Whatever was in the plane would get him now. There was no escape. He couldn't run in his current state.

The Doctor glanced around, slowly moving his head (and the thing bloody hurt anyway) around to try to locate the origin of the sound. He saw some bushes shake. He prepared to try to run, or perhaps negotiate with whatever was coming his way. To his surprise, it was just a passing pig. It was a fine specimen, the mottled pink-and-brown skin smooth over its well defined body.

He relaxed. It was only a boar. With horns. That could rip him open. Oh, the island was a cruel mistress. Perhaps the boar would not find him a threat. Of course, with his luck it would go straight for him even if there were huge sacks of apples dancing right behind him. The Doctor closed his eyes. He still had regenerations left. He wouldn't die. Unless the pig decided to eat him. That wouldn't be pleasant. Not at all.

To his surprise, the boar ran past him, towards a diminutive figure a few meters away. Lowering his head, the boar aimed to spear the person—it looked like a person to him at any rate. But the person quickly scrambled up a tree. The boar rammed at the tree, only to find his tusks stuck. The tree's grip was tight.

"Climb," a male adolescent voice ordered him.

"What," he dumbly replied. His brain was simply not function.

"The trees. The pig is stupid. He doesn't know how to climb. I can climb. And so can you. Now climb. Hurry." The voice, coming from the figure in the tree, begged.

"Oh, well alright. That I can do."

He clumsily climbed as fast as possible up the nearest tree. He grabbed the nearest branch and heaved himself up. Again and again he did it. He ignored the pounding of his blood in his head and kept on going. The Doctor stopped after a while, unable to go on. He sat upon a think branch, glad that the board had been more focused upon the little boy. Speaking of the boy…

"Wotcher," he called. "Who are you? You're an adult. Haven't seen an adult in forever, mister."

"I am an adult. Good observation. Say, what's your name?"

"Stagg. James Stagg." The Doctor internally chuckled at the thought of the iconic _James Bond_ introduction.

"Well James, what year is it?"

"What kind of adult are you, mister? You don't know the year? It's 1941."

So he landed in the middle of World War Two. Just his luck. Of course it had to be a year he landed in. He certainly hoped this island wasn't one of the uninhabited islands of Hawaii.

"Oh, well of course I know the year, I'm not stupid," the Doctor retorted. "I was just wondering if you knew."

"You're funny. What's your name?"

"I'm the Doctor. You can just call me Doctor."

"Doctor? What kind of name is that? Or are you a doctor? I don't like doctors."

"Why don't you like doctors, James?"

"They're boring and they poke me. It's weird."

"Well, I'm no ordinary Doctor. I like to have fun. And I won't poke you unless you deserved to be poked. Alright?"

"Okay," James said brightly. "But how are we going to get down? The pig's still down there."

"That's alright. We can, er, hop from tree to tree. Or…we could wait until he goes away."

"He? How do you know the pig's a he? Couldn't it be a she?"

"It has those tusks, which give it away. It's obvious that he's a male pig. That's how I know."

"That's brilliant. I'll have to remember that. I should tell the other boys."

"Other…boys?"

"Oh sure, there's a big bunch of boys. They was having a meeting earlier, but I left. They just talked."

The boys must be the group that the instructions were talking about. But why. Why would anyone take the boys to an island? By themselves, by the sound of it. Odd. It was very odd. Perhaps there is more to the instructions that he didn't get.

"Hello? Doctor?" James interrupted his thoughts.

"Right…Sorry. Erm, what were you saying?"

"Nothin' much. This tree's moving though. Must be because of the pig."

The Doctor thought about it for a moment before speaking. "Can you go to another tree? There's a branch near you that connects to another tree."

"I-I-I don't know. Father always told me I shouldn't skip from trees. I'm also kinda scared."

"It's okay, it's like a game. Here, I'll go first to show you. We'll meet each other halfway, alright?"

"Alright…if an adult says so, I think it's safe."

The Doctor nodded. He would have to make this fast before the boar manages to topple over the tree. He needed to save the child. He quickly located a branch that practically connected his tree to the one next to him. The Doctor thanked whatever force made the trees grew so densely together. He inched towards that branch from the one he was on and shifted over, grabbing onto the limb and pulling himself up. His grip on the long piece of wood didn't loosen until he was completely off his old tree and onto the new one. He groaned in pain as splinters broke and latched onto his fingers.

"Okay James, now your turn. It might hurt a bit. But you can do it."

"Okay…"

The boy did the same as the Doctor did, except that lucky for him, the branches were a lot closer. The Doctor was grateful for that. It would have be horrible if the boy had to go through the same thing he had to. The two branches that he had used as a bridge had been further apart than he had thought.

"Excellent work, James. Now, we'll continue that until we meet on one tree. We'll decide what to do there."

The boy nodded, and started on another branch. The Doctor (who was just a tad unwilling) did the same. They passed through a few trees each, and with each passing tree, James seemed to become happier, or so the Doctor could observe. He, on the other hand, was not as happy, but (hopefully) did not let James know of that fact. The splinters from the first tree stung his hand. Thankfully that was the only tree to do so. He was upset at tree. Why did it have to give him splinters? It hurt. A lot more than necessary. He sounded so childish. Practically a thousand and still whining about minor injuries. Ah well.

The two soon met the same tree. The pig, not knowing that its target had escaped, was still focusing on the first tree, ramming its tusks against the tree. On that thought, why was the pig attack that one tree? Was it specifically targeting James? Or did it just not like that particular tree. As he thought about it, what had made it angry or sacred enough to attack? Why did it go for James, and not the Doctor? Or, perhaps, more importantly, why did it target James at all? He thought that pigs were not natural predators and would only attack if it felt that it was in danger. James posed no threat, and the pig had been already rampaging. The pig was normal. And it just wasn't the fact that the pig looked like an almost perfect pig specimen, but that it was at the extremely large end of the rainbow of boar sizes.

"Curious…" he muttered.

"What is it?" James inquired excitedly. "Are we going to play another game?"

"No, no, it's nothing important. I was just…thinking."

"About what?"

"The pig."

"Oh, it's quite a pretty pig, isn't it? For a pig, at least. Not nearly as pretty as my mum or aunt."

"It is, isn't it? Say, what are your parents like?"

"They're brilliant. My father solves stuff. People bring him problems. He likes solving them."

A detective then, the Doctor thought. Perhaps this is why James seemed just a tad bit smarter than most kids his age. "What about your mum?"

"My mum's really wonderful. She's so nice. And she feeds me food. I'm also kind of hungry right now."

"Oh, erm, I have a banana. Here, have it. I love bananas, but I can always get some more."

"Really? Thank you Doctor," James replied as he began to peel his banana. "For an adult, you're a lot like me. You're just a person. No telling me what to do. Still. I miss my mum and dad. Haven't seen them for a few days."

"Why haven't you?"

James took a bite out of his banana before answering, "My parents sent me to this place, and I got on a plane, Corkhood something or the other. Last time I saw them. I kinda miss how mum would tell me to tuck in my shirt and wash my hands before I eat. Or when my dad has a mystery and wants me to look at it."

"Sounds like nice people, your mum and dad. And your home seems lovely as well."

"It is, Doctor, it is. It's brilliant; I wish you could see it. What about your home?"

The Doctor froze. His home. Gallifrey? Or perhaps the TARDIS. He would have to put this vaguely. He doubt James would take lightly to the fact that he's an alien from a whole other planet. Perhaps he'd get called a Martian again. He was most certainly not a tiny green man from the red planet.

"Well James. My home is a nice place. I could see the sun rise and set and the sky would change colors. I had a nice life," he said slowly.

"But what about your family? Your friends?"

"They were nice people. Just like your mother and father."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's nice. I wish I had a brother or a sister though. I'm the only one. Gets a bit lonely. But it's okay. I'm used to it by now. With the other boys, it's kinda like a family."

"Oh, yes. The other boys. Do you want to go back to them? As soon as the pig leaves?"

"Maybe. They were a bit boring earlier. One of them was holding a big pink shell. It made a noise and we went to it. But I found it boring."

The Doctor was intrigued. "Ah, I see," he muttered.

"I'd rather stay with you. You're much more interesting. Except you're not telling me everything. I learned how to tell when people aren't saying everything from my dad."

"Well…"

"Maybe if you tell me more stuff I'll help you with them. My dad told me I was good at solving people's problems. Especially when they talk to me. Even if they don't believe me. Because I'm small. That's okay. Adults usually know more than me, though. They're really smart. Are you smart, Doctor?" James spilled out in a rush.

"I'd like to think I'm smart."

"So do I. And you ignored the part where I told you to tell me your problems. I knew it. What don't you want to talk about? Is it that bad?"

"I-" The Doctor was astonished. Sometimes James was like any normal kid, talking on and on about how his parents are wonderful and rambling about many things. But James was truly intelligent. He knew what he was talking about. He probably got that from his father. How a father could influence things. He certainly had done a great deal of teaching his son at a young age.

"Yes. You don't want to say, do you? That's quite alright. Hopefully you'll tell me someday. I'd want to know," the boy commented.

He numbly nodded. The boy would be a great detective when he grew up. Or perhaps a neurologist or a psychologist. "James, have you heard of Sherlock Holmes? The books?"

"Oh yes. My father has been reading the first one aloud to me. _A Study in Scarlet_ it was called right?"

"Yes, that's what it's called."

"It's quite interesting. I just got to the part after Sherlock follows that woman who disappears. I don't understand a lot of it though. It has big words and dad has to explain a lot of them to me. We haven't read it in a while together though. Pity, they were good."

He nodded, "Ah, yes. I remember reading _A Study in Scarlet._ That book was quite a classic."

"You've read it too?"

"Yep, the whole collection."

"I can't wait to do that. I think I have to grow a bit older. Otherwise I can't understand anything much," James remarked.

"It'll be fun, when you do. It always makes me want to read more of his stuff."

"Oh that sounds brilliant."

"It is."

The two sat there, staring out in to the forest. The boar was (oddly) still crashing into the same tree. The Doctor found that a bit amusing. What if the pig had a back story and had a grudge against the tree, he pondered. He began to formulate a little story for that pig. Perhaps that tree had always ruined everything for that pig. And now that he had taken away his dinner, the pig was mad. And he vowed to destroy that tree. The Doctor bit back a chuckle. Unfortunately for him, James seemed to have heard.

James cocked his head to the side. "What's funny, Doctor?"

"Nothing important."

"You always say that, Doctor. I want to know too."

He sighed, "Well…alright. I was thinking of a story."

"A story?"

"For the pig." He glanced briefly in the direction of the tree, which was shaking and stood out against the rest of the forest.

"For the pig? Why?"

"Why not?" The Doctor grinned at James. "It's an interesting topic. I mean, the guy's still going at that tree, see?" The Doctor pointed to the shaking tree.

"Odd. I'd thought he would've stopped by now."

"Nah," the Doctor shook his head. "If it did, I'd have getting off this branch by now. My bottom's starting to hurt."

James laughed. "What's your story though?"

"Ahh…the pig's got a grudge of the tree. The thing ruined too many things for the guy. The pig's rammed into it before; the tree's branches have fallen on him, that sort of thing. And now that it's taken its dinner, the pig's determined to kill it."

"My father thinks stories like that are useless, because they don't help him with his mysteries. I like them though; it's kind of like how Sherlock can basically know the story of the person who committed the crime. I used to write stories like that down. My dad found them and he told me I shouldn't do that. That it was bad for a detective to make stuff up. It would interfere with his case. But I wrote them down anyway. I almost gave up on doing them, as my dad would've just destroyed them anyway, but something kept me going," James admitted.

"You resisted your father, eh? What a rebel. Usually kids your age love their parents and do whatever they say. Often influences how they'll grow up to be."

James looked away, a bit ashamed. "Really? I guess I'm usually like that, obedient. Just sometimes when I love to do something. I really love writing those stories."

Stories, the Doctor thought. Maybe he'll become a writer someday. He can't recall any books by someone named "James Stagg" though. Perhaps the boy will go by another name. Or that he hadn't encountered any of his books yet. Or maybe he won't become a writer. And will just be a detective. Like his father. Perhaps his father will want him to take over the business. Seems likely that that was what happened. Ever so slightly more than just not ever encountering his books. The Doctor just simply loved to read too much to not have been able to not encounter a book like that. After all, the Doctor has time. A lot of it.

"What types of stories do you like writing, James?"

"I like detective stories, so I like to write those," James blushed a bit. "I think my dad would rather have me be a detective like him. So I think I'll be a detective when I grow up, like he wants me to. But I'll write stories too."

"Brilliant. That sounds wonderful."

"What sort of job do you do, Doctor? A Doctor, perhaps?" James joked.

The Doctor shifted a bit awkwardly. What to say. People always thought he was an actual Doctor, where in reality; he picked his name because Doctors are supposed to help people. And boy does he help people. He was also a traveler—a wonderer, one might say—as well.

The Doctor thought carefully before responding, "I'm a traveler. I wonder around and visit places."

James smirked, "Once again, Doctor, I see you haven't told me everything. Why won't you tell me? Please? Is it really that important?"

To the Doctor, James looked like a begging puppy. The child looked at the Doctor with wide open eyes that held such innocence and curiosity. Should he take the risk? It could change a lot of things. It could influence the boy for the rest of his life. It could affect everything the boy does from now on.

He shifted on the spot, feeling awkward on the branch. How he longed for the ground. But he couldn't step foot on the ground without alerting the boar. And if he alerted the boar, well he would be getting into a mess he wouldn't like. Nor would he want James to witness such a scene.

"Honestly, James. I am a traveler. Believe me when I say that."

"I do believe you."

The Doctor looked James in the eyes. "Good, because I wasn't lying about that."

"I knew that," James said simply.

The two sat on the limb, listening to the sound of the pig's squeals and grunts as it rammed against the tree. The Doctor wondered if the pig will ever grow tired of continuously beating the tree. If not…how would they ever get off? He sighed. This could be an awful long time. Perhaps he should think up of a different plan. He wanted to get off the bloody tree. Trees were awfully annoying, he thought. Although, one did save his life earlier.

"Doctor?" James cautiously asked.

"Yes James?"

"Are we ever getting off this tree?"

The Doctor shook his head, looking off into the horizon. "At this rate, not any time soon. The pig would still be able to hear and smell us if we tried to get down and sneak off. I think we might have to think up of another plan."

"That's fine. I like it up here. As long as we have food and drinks. I think I could live up here for a while."

"The problem is…there are other _necessities _that still have to be taken care of."

James blinked. "Right…well. What do you suppose we do?"

"Let's just sit here for a bit more and try to forget about things. Maybe you'd like to take a nap, James? You seem tired."

"Yes, I'm very tired. Can I lean on you?"

"You may. It's not a problem."

"If you say so, Doctor," James yawned.

With James curled up next to him, the Doctor felt relaxed. He sat there, with James in his lap (he had moved the poor boy onto his lap and shifted across so his back lay against the tree's trunk). He wondered if he should tell James everything. It couldn't hurt. James was smart. He would believe him. And James probably already suspects something from the eye contact he had made earlier. Many intellectual people had often found the Doctor's eyes to feel old and wise (which he suppose one could say he was). But how to get off the bloody tree and back onto the ground? He wanted his TARDIS, and more importantly, his bed in the TARDIS. That's what he wanted. A nice, comfortable bed. There was nothing better than that bed. Especially with a tree trunk at his back. Maybe he could throw something in a different direction. Perhaps the pig would take the distraction. And then he will laugh and would take James back to the boys. After explaining everything of course. Maybe after a short rest, the Doctor thought. He closed his eyes, wanting to rest for a few minutes, but he ended up falling asleep like James.

_~Later~_

It was a miracle that he didn't end up falling. Or James. The sun was rising and piercing to the Doctor's eyes. Bloody hell, he was sore. Everything ached. He was still on the blasted tree. And the pig was still going at it; its squeals could still be heard. The tree moaned and groaned, but it did not give in to the pig's advances. It simply would not fall. The tree refused to topple, and thus, the pig refused to leave. Maybe, the pig would be too focused onto the tree to notice them getting off. The Doctor broke of a medium sized branch and tossed it in the direction of the pig to test his theory. The pig paused in the middle of one of its attacks, tense. His ears flickered and his nose twitched as he breathed in the air. Of course he wasn't completely focused on the tree. Just his bloody luck.

The Doctor sighed. He knew he would have to think of a new plan. It was already morning. They needed to relieve themselves and needed food and water. His throat was dry as he breathed in air. He wanted water. As if something heard him, water dropped onto his head. What in the world, the Doctor thought. He glanced up. A large leaf had collected water. The Doctor looked around. The other leaves had collected water as well. It was a miracle. Perhaps his luck hadn't run out on him after all. Brilliant. Now all they needed was a food supply. And a plan to get off the tree. He'd be damned if they had to stay on the tree for any longer than they needed.

James stirred from his sleep. Blearily opening his eyes he muttered, "Dad…?"

The Doctor looked at the sleepy child fondly. "No, it's me, the Doctor."

"Oh…well good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning, James."

"So...has the pig, left?"

"Well, er—" The Doctor began before being interrupted by James.

"Doctor—Doctor! Look! The boys are over there. They're playing. In the ocean. That looks fun. I've never been to the beach or the ocean. My dad says later. Oh, I really want to go Doctor. Can I go? Please?"

"Maybe we might want to—"

"They're not even looking for me," James interrupted again. "Why don't they want me to play with them too? What's wrong with me?"

The boy looked as if he wanted to cry. What a sudden change in his emotions. Something isn't right. There's something going on here.

"There's nothing wrong with you, James. They just want to play. They're probably waiting for you."

"I must go now then. I'll just climb down and run to them. I can make it."

"James—wait!"

But James paid him no heed. Evidently he had completely forgotten about pig. The Doctor's eyes widened. Something was influencing James. It couldn't be normal. Only yesterday was James a super aware child. Now, he was like any other ignorant child blinded by desire. How queer, the Doctor thought. Perhaps there was another alien force working upon this island. This wasn't natural. His ears began to ring with an unnatural tune.

While the Doctor was computing his thoughts, James had scrambled across the branch and had begun lowering himself down. No, the Doctor thought. No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't be that—. No. What was going on? What was he doing?

"No, James. Don't do it. You can go to the beach later. I promise," the Doctor pleaded with the boy, but the desire within the boy took no head of his words. The boy wouldn't listen.

"James, you can't. The pig. Remember the pig?" begged the Doctor. "You can't. Don't. You'll die."

"No, Doctor. I won't die. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'll get to that beach at the end of the island. I will get to paradise."

The Doctor's eyes widened. He wouldn't listen. The boy wouldn't listen. What sort of force was working here? He couldn't. No.

"James, please. I'm begging."

"Doctor. Everything will be fine. I know it."

"No, it won't," tears begun to form in the Doctor's eyes. He wouldn't give up on James. No, he couldn't. It was probably useless by now, but he refused to stop. The Doctor reached his hand out to James.

"Just grab onto my hand, James. Everything will be alright. I'll pull you up. We'll go to the beach later, alright?"

James didn't even bother to answer him this time, instead, wasting no time climbing down the side of the tree. He reached the bottom within seconds. But as soon as he stepped on the ground, the boar squealed triumphantly and ran for James. The boy didn't even seem to realize that the boar was coming onto him. The Doctor watched in horror as the pig gored the child, bloody spilling everywhere. It had killed him instantaneously, and the pig had run off with the body still attached, and as it ran, the limbs dangled unnaturally limp. Scratches appeared all over James' body as the pig dragged it through the foliage. The Doctor's eyes widened as it ran away, victory in its step. It couldn't be happening. No. Pigs weren't carnivorous. They didn't attack humans. What was going on? Nothing made sense. He was always on top of the game, he had always known everything. This time, he didn't know. He couldn't see anything. All he saw was the island, and the children. There was nothing else. Even with his telepathy, he couldn't sense a foreign presence. Was it just simply human nature? Was that what had affected James? Even the thought of the boy now brought tears to the Doctor's eyes. He had made a friend and lost him within less than a day. His friends always had to leave him, didn't they? He could never keep his friends for very long.

The Doctor supposed he should get off the tree now. He didn't want James to have died for nothing. Perhaps the boy knew that the pig was never going to leave. He was such a smart boy, perhaps he had figured it would be better to give himself up for an adult that could protect the rest of the group. Or, the Doctor scolded himself; he had been looking into the situation too deeply. Perhaps it was just an odd coincidence. But he was upset. He couldn't think right. The Doctor sighed and began lowering himself off the branch. As he lowered himself down onto the ground, he wondered if the boar would come back for him too. That was odd, he thought. Why was the pig always targeting James, and not him? He sighed and shook his head. Perhaps that would be a discussion (with himself) for another day.

He walked slowly around, trying to find his way to the TARDIS. The island was small enough, so he would be bound to bump into the TARDIS eventually. He needed his bed, and perhaps a cup of tea. That would be relaxing for him. He need some time to himself to think about the entire situation. He knew there was something off about it. But he couldn't exactly place his finger on what. After a few minutes or so, he managed to find the TARDIS, its blue coloring making it stand out from the forest it was in. The Doctor was glad that he had found it earlier than he had expected.

"What is going on?" he muttered to himself. "Perhaps am I going mad?"

He shook his head and dragged his feet across the console room and into his bedroom beyond. He flopped onto his bed. He needed sleep. He needed to forget. There was something strange on this island, and he intended to find out. After a long nap. So the Doctor closed his eyes and shut off his thoughts and let himself drift asleep.


	3. The Forgotten

Chapter 3: The Forgotten

The waves crashed against the cliffs far below the Doctor. The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked up to the edge of the cliff, admiring the view of the cerulean water. The sun was at high noon, hardly casting a shadowing beneath the Doctor's feet. He shuffled towards the edge of the cliff before carefully sitting down on to the ground and dragging himself so that his feet hung precariously over the edge. He found it oddly calming that he could fall over the edge and kill himself at any moment. The cliff could easily break (as that mountain side had) and he could fall to his doom. Or he could survive that. Who knows? The Doctor continued gazing at the horizon, watching the birds circle and dive down for food. He thought that he could stay like this for a while. There was nothing wrong, nothing bothering him. Of course, the "tribe" of kids could always find him.

He had stumbled across the boys one day, but luckily, he managed to hide himself from their view while they were busy arguing about something (he vaguely heard something about "shelters", "pigs", and "dreams"). He had not seen the boys since then, but there were signs of their inhabitance. There were trampled paths all over the forest (it was a miracle that they had not discovered the TARDIS on their travels), shrubbery and fruit started to disappear; shrill shrieks of little boys filled the air every so often, and the fire. They had lit a fire, at the very top of the mountain, to try to attract passing ships or planes. The boys were pretty smart for a bunch of adolescent children. And most certainly resourceful. They haven't died from starvation or thirst yet, have they? But the fire.

Fire, the Doctor wondered, could be considered as both good and evil. There were two sides of it. There was one side that was good. It implied resourcefulness, and a way of survival. It also represented a gift. Particularly from the Titan Prometheus to the humans. It was also the path for humanity to go from savages to what they were now (sort of, as they were still pretty savage to his standards—inventing a device purposely for killing, _honestly_). Fire represented innovation, and progress. But fire also represented death and destruction. Fire meant the overuse of something. It burned and killed. It showed that for progress, there must be sacrifice. Would that be the case here? Would there be sacrifice of something for the kids' rescue? A life? Perhaps two? Or perhaps their sanity? The Doctor pushed the thought aside. Did it matter, really? All he had to do was wait for the TARDIS to re—

No. He couldn't do that to the children. It wasn't their fault that they crash landed into the island. He has to save them. He has to. It wouldn't be fair to them. They are still innocent people who could grow up to play a big role in the world. He didn't know who they would become later on in life. So he has to save them. He must.

The Doctor looked behind him as he heard the bushes rattle. He turned back and shook his head. He had been hearing noises everywhere. He was paranoid, much too paranoid. It didn't help that the noise reminded him of the time where James had saved him from the boar. He had a hard time coping with James' death. That death wasn't natural. He knew it. But he shouldn't dwell on it. _But there was something important about it_. He was conflicted. The Doctor ran his hand through his hair. Nothing made sense. In a whole sense, it seemed so unnatural—pigs were not carnivorous, and James seemed smarter than to climb down with a wild boar around. But, he could not find anything wrong with it. The pig could be mad, it could be some sort of genetic defect. It, perhaps, had developed a taste for flesh when it had nothing else to eat (or perhaps it had eaten the pilot from the plane as the Doctor did not see a pilot among the children nor had found a body, but he didn't want to think about that). As for James, he was still a child. He could have just lapsed and wanted to go to the beach so badly that he had forgotten. He was only—the Doctor didn't even know how old the boy was.

The Doctor turned around to peer in the brush as he heard more noise. There had to be something there, the Doctor contemplated. Or was it possible he imagined the noise a second time? But these noises seemed much more real than the ones he had imagined. Perhaps—

The Doctor did not have time to complete his thought as a small boy—maybe four or five—ran out, nearly running himself off the cliff, but the Doctor caught him on time. The boy tore at his hair. He was barely clothed, and needed a rinse. He looked like a boy who had been living on the wild for a while (as he probably had). The Doctor looked into the child's eyes.

"Blimey…" he muttered. The boy's eyes were wild and seemed out of focus. "What's wrong? What's your name?"

The boy muttered incomprehensible gibberish. The Doctor's eyes widened. There was something wrong with the boy. Had he gone mad? Perhaps it was the blasted island. He knew it for himself that the island could drive a person mad.

"Look at me. It's okay. Everything's fine. What's your name?"

"Ar-r-rthur Wo-o-od," the boy managed to croak. Perhaps if he had been someone else, he would have thought that it was due to lack of water, but the Doctor knew better. The boy was too active to be suffering from dehydration—plus, there was plenty of water on the island. A blind and deaf man could survive on this island, if he had food. There was water everywhere.

"Arthur, it's okay. You can calm down," the Doctor told him soothingly.

"No, no. Nothing's okay. Missing."

"What's missing?"

Arthur shook his head wildly. He pulled at his wild brown hair. His limbs shook with excess energy. The Doctor looked at him, sadly. He could do nothing but watch. He pulled the child into a hug. Arthur frantically tried to resist, but eventually relaxed in the Doctor's arms.

Finally, the Doctor pulled away. He asked again, "What's missing, Arthur?"

"I-I dun know. I-I dun' re-re-re," Arthur stammered.

"Remember?" the Doctor said gingerly.

Arthur nodded. He seemed to have calmed down after the Doctor's hug. He sat down, at the edge of the cliff. The Doctor sighed. This boy seemed much more timid and quiet than James had been.

"Arthur, do you want to tell me what's wrong?" he inquired.

"I-I want to. I dun' remember. I forgot."

The Doctor cocked his head. He _forgot_? How strange. Normally those types of thoughts haunted people for a while. Apparently the boy had forgotten. Perhaps he could try to coax the answer out of him. It would be good for both the boy and him.

"Can you try? Your parents? Do you remember them? Tell me about them?"

"I dunno. I can't," Arthur shook his head frantically. "Mum and dad?"

"Yes. Mum and dad. Do you like them?"

His eyes widened. He began to shake his head violently, but he interrupted himself by saying, "Yes. I love my parents."

The Doctor stared at the boy. Something was off. He had just given two conflicting answers. What was going on? Was it the island?

"Arthur, I need you to answer properly. Do you like your parents?"

Arthur's eyes grew blurry and unfocused, but he replied, "Yes. I love my parents."

The Doctor blinked. He was not expecting that. Partially not the same exact words. There was something going on with the boy. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the island itself. It seemed like his parents had brainwashed him. The Doctor looked closer at the boy's body. He could see scars over his body. Those types of scars did not seem like they would be caused by something from the island. Perhaps a belt…

"Yes. I love my parents." Arthur repeated again.

"It's okay, Arthur. You can tell me the truth. I'm the Doctor. You can trust me."

"Trust, no. Can't. Doctors. No."

The Doctor shook his head. They always thought he was a real doctor. "I'm not a doctor. I'm the Doctor. I won't hurt you. I won't tell your parents. Did they do something to you?"

"No. I love my parents."

"Arthur. Your parents aren't here. Just tell me. It'll be better for you. Did they do something to you?"

"I love my parents?" Arthur replied, puzzled.

"Yes. It's okay. It's okay to remember. You have just forgotten," the Doctor said encouragingly.

Arthur blinked. He shook his head again, running fingers through his hair. His eyes widened as if they remembered something. He looked at the Doctor, his eyes bright.

"I think-I remember. I am no longer forgotten," the boy muttered, almost to himself. "Doctor, I think. I think-I think I didn't really like my parents. I can't remember why. I just-I just remember words. Whenever I try to think about that-I-I-I just get 'I love my parents'. I dunno."

The boy looked almost in tears. He couldn't. He simply he couldn't remember. He suppressed his memories, the Doctor thought. They were so bad, he forced himself to forget. And now, when he wants to remember, he can't. Interesting.

The Doctor put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "It's alright," he insisted. "It's okay. Tell me more about yourself, Arthur."

"I-I think I'm five years old."

"Good. What about any friends? Do you have any friends here?"

He knew he had hit a sore spot for the boy. The boy looked about ready to spill his tears now.

"No. They always forget me. They don't remember me. Forget. I hate that word."

Because he was always forgotten. He was the forgotten. The Doctor added silently.

"Why would they forget you, Arthur? What's wrong with you? I won't forget you. I promise. We can be friends."

"Really, Doctor? Or is it because you're an adult?"

"No-no. I really want to be your friend! What's your favourite colour? Mine's blue."

"Mine's is yellow. It's so happy. I like being happy."

"Well mine's is blue because my happiness is blue," the Doctor proclaimed.

Arthur giggled, "You're funny Doctor."

The Doctor began to laugh, but he stopped when he saw that Arthur had begun to convulse and twitch. His eyes became unfocused again.

"No!" the young boy screamed. "Stop it. It hurts. Mum, stop it. I didn't do it. Tommy did it. Da-dad. It wasn't me. Don't hurt me."

The Doctor grabbed the boy before he could plummet down into the ocean. He held the boy as he screamed for his parents to stop hurting him. Tears ran down the boy's eyes. His sobs shook the Doctor. The Doctor stroked Arthur's back, trying to comfort him. The boy was too young to know such pain and misery. It must have been a horrid situation that his parents had put him through, the poor boy. Perhaps his parents were alcoholics, or perhaps they did not mean to have Arthur, the Doctor pondered as he tried to soothe the crazed boy.

Arthur's tremors slowed, to practically a stop. His body, however, continued to shake. The boy shivered, despite the tropical climate. His eyes began to refocus.

"Oh, Doctor," he cried. "Doctor, what happened? Everything went black."

"I-I don't know, Arthur. You screamed for your parents to stop hurting you. I honestly don't know what you were thinking," explained the Doctor.

"I-I-I what?"

"You began to shake and yell at your parents. You seemed like you were being hurt."

"Maybe. I think. I dunno. I still can't remember."

"It's okay. It might take time for the memories to come back. But they should come back. But Arthur, tell me this. Do these blackouts happen often?"

Arthur nodded and looked away. The Doctor creased his forehead. The child seemed ashamed of something he couldn't control. Perhaps that was why he could make friends.

Arthur sniffled, "It's okay, Doctor, if you don't want to be my friend anymore. No one ever does."

"No, no. I want to be your friend. I'll help you get through these-these blacking outs. Okay?"

He slowly nodded. "Really?" he questioned.

"Yes. Of course."

"Yay. I have a friend."

"Yes, and I'm sure you'll make many more."

The boy shook his head. "No I won't," he insisted. "No one likes me."

The Doctor sighed, "Well, I like you, and I think you're special. And if I think you're special, there's probably someone else who thinks you're special out there as well. Besides me."

"Are you sure, Doctor?"

"I'm sure of it."

Arthur yawned, "Doctor, I'm tired."

"I'm tired as well. Come on, we'll get you cleaned up and into bed, alright?"

"Alright…" the boy was too tired to even question where the bed would be.

The Doctor picked up Arthur and placed him into his arms. He walked the two of them back to the TARDIS. He helped Arthur clean up (behind a shower curtain), and tucked him into bed. Perhaps, he would have someone to keep him company on the island for a while longer. Now, he had to find his books on psychology and on repression. There was definitely something about Arthur's memories that were causing those fits. And the Doctor was determined to help the boy as much as possible to make up for the horrible past the boy had experienced. And if he had to go through the entire library to do so, then do so he would. Bloody hell, he thought. That might take a long time. Perhaps if he traveled forward in time and found a psychologist to help Arthur. The Doctor glanced at the TARDIS console. Nope. He couldn't. The TARDIS was still broken. He sighed and got up to get a cup of tea, before settling down into an armchair to open the first book.

_~Later~_

Arthur continued to have his attacks. And every time, the Doctor was there to comfort the five year old child. At night, the Doctor heard the boy's screams as he was transported back into the past in his mind. Every night the poor boy had to suffer. The Doctor wished he could do more than just physically be there for the boy. He comforted the boy, and hugged him until the tears dried and the cries changed into wordless mutterings. In the daytime, Arthur's fits became less frequent and less violent as time passed. One particularly nasty seizure almost burned down the TARDIS and killed the Doctor (how five year old boys got so well at handling knives, the Doctor will never know—humans these days). Most of the fits consisted of him momentarily lapsing out of the present time and back into his troubled past—generally the most violent action being Arthur's wild twisting and struggling. The Doctor's presence seemed to be a therapy for the boy's illness. The ailment seemed to be passing by. The only reminders were the nightly nightmares.

"Doctor, is there any food?" Arthur asked, walking around the interior of the TARDIS (but the boy didn't know that he was inside a TARDIS, the Doctor hadn't told him that, and he hadn't been conscious when the Doctor brought him in).

"Well, we have bananas, if you want one," the Doctor absently replied, playing around and trying to fix one of the TARDIS controls.

"What is it with you and bananas, Doctor? Aren't there any other fruit? Like pears?"

The Doctor stopped fiddling around with the piece to stare at the boy. He was outraged. Bananas were much better than pears. He hated pears with a passion. Bananas, on the other hand, were brilliant.

"What is it, Doctor? Something on my face?" Arthur inquired.

The Doctor paused before saying, "Pears are disgusting. Bananas are not. That's why there are no pears."

Arthur smiled, amused. "That's it Doctor? You don't like pears?"

"Yeup," the Doctor said, popping the "p".

Arthur shook his head before collapsing on the ground. The Doctor ran towards the boy, ready to help with one of the fits. It's okay, the Doctor thought. It'll be fine. It's not real. Even if the Doctor had spoken the words aloud, it was obvious that Arthur was too far gone in his world, his past. The Doctor held the boy as tears streamed down Arthur's face. He wished he had someone else to help him. He couldn't do this on his own. He wished Rose was with him. She would know what to do. She'd hold the boy and tell him a story that Jackie had told her when she was little. But she wasn't here. She was gone—lost—in that other world; that other universe.

"That's it," the Doctor mumbled to himself. "I have to tell him stories, something to replace the memories that are haunting him."

The Doctor held Arthur in his arms and whispered, "Arthur, can you hear me?"

The boys eyes flickered (hopefully because of recognition, but the Doctor wasn't entirely sure). Arthur thrashed and tried to slap away the Doctor's hands, which were held tightly around his body.

After a minute or so without a reply, the Doctor continued. "I am going to tell you a story, alright?"

Once again, Arthur didn't respond. The Doctor realized that the boy probably wouldn't have responded anyway and pursued on. "In a galaxy far, far away," he began, chuckling at the _Star Wars _reference. "Well…perhaps not that far. Anyhow, there was a ship, a blue ship, can you imagine that? On this ship was a Lord, the very last Lord. He was very lonely, being the last Lord, and so, had no one to travel with. He had no kingdom to rule either, his land burned down in flames because of the invading Daleks. This Lord had stopped the Daleks from killing every Lord and Lady and then continuing on with the rest of the galaxies, but to do so, he had to do something that destroyed his home. And so, he was the last Lord."

The Doctor paused to take a breath. There was so much he could tell Arthur (and even if he hadn't made it a fairytale like story, the boy wouldn't have believed him anyway). As he was pondering, Arthur began to shake even more violently. The Doctor gave the child a puzzled look. Normally the fits didn't last this long, usually it was shorter. He wanted to shrug it off as an abnormally, but there could be something going on—like with James. But he wouldn't give up now. The Doctor spun tales of adventures of the "Lord's" journey, meeting a Princess of London, Rose, (oh the Doctor couldn't help but add that bit), and their travels together. He told of how they almost died together a fair few times, but would always come out laughing. Continuing on, he came to recite how they fell in love, but then, he lost her as she fell down into another world. Then he told of another woman, a Duchess, that the Lord had met. But she left him too, without even coming on his ship. He was lonely again, that Lord. He would always be lonely. He was the last Lord, and he brought trouble where he went, but he would try to fix them, as much as possible.

The Doctor glanced at Arthur, who had fallen asleep after his fit. Carefully lifting the boy up, the Doctor brought him into one of the many spare rooms that littered the TARDIS. He threw off the duvet and lay the boy carefully down on the bed. He tucked the boy in before leaving him to his rest.

_~Later~_

The Doctor was at it again, trying to fix one of many TARDIS consoles. He twisted it, jabbed at it, and yelled magic spells at it, but nothing had worked so far. He wondered what had happened to it. And to make everything worse, the TARDIS refused to speak with him about it. Perhaps she wanted him to stay on the island? No, why would she want that? The Doctor quickly changed his mind on his previous statement as he heard a rumbling sound that rolled throughout the TARDIS came to his attention. She was laughing at him. Blasted ship. Outdated too.

"Do-do-doctor?" yawned a still sleep-ridden Arthur. "When did I fall asleep?"

"Ah, you fell asleep right after one of your blackings," the Doctor answered. "You must've slept well. Didn't hear any screams. No nightmares?"

"No, not today. I didn't see them today. I had a dream instead. About a ship—a _blue _ship, Doctor. And inside that ship there was this person, a man. I never found out his name, but he was the last 'Lord' or something. He had all these amazing adventures, many with this pretty lady, and they loved each other. It was so nice. I hope I have that dream again."

So, it had worked. His plan worked (not that he was surprised or anything, quite the opposite to be precise). Arthur's nightmares were replaced with the story that Doctor had described to him while he was not himself. It had leaked through and settled into his mind. Brilliant. This made things much easier. He hoped that he could continue to tell the story—

"Doctor?" Arthur interrupted his thoughts. "Doctor, I'm still hungry."

"Right. Well, we have some chips. I always have some chips around. Do you want some?" the Doctor absentmindedly muttered. Rose used to love chips.

"Yes. I'd like some chips. I'd probably eat anything right now, I'm so hungry."

"Really, well, let's go, allons-y," the Doctor proclaimed.

Arthur gave the Doctor a strange look. "Allons-y?" he said, tasting the sound of the new word. "What's that mean?"

"It's French for, 'Let's go'. Always like that phrase to be honest," the Doctor shrugged.

"Oh, okay. 'Allons-y' then."

The two headed down into the TARDIS' kitchen and grabbed a plate of chips each. They heartily ate their share of sliced potatoes, cracking a joke every so often. And like any other five year old, Arthur played with his food. Most of them consisted of the chip being an airplane that crashed into the boy's mouth. Ah, bless that kid. He had come onto the island through a crashing plane and yet is still merrily playing airplanes with his chips like it had never happened.

Finishing their chips, they walked around the TARDIS. The Doctor limited them to only the inside the TARDIS for Arthur's safety. It was still too early to allow Arthur to go back and explore the wild island, he could possibly injure himself. Perhaps after his fits had stopped completely…

The Doctor shook his head. An ominous feeling had laid his ugly head onto the Doctor's shoulders. But the boy was getting better. And sooner or later, he'll get tired of the many rooms within the TARDIS and ask to explore the outside. That day will come eventually, he told himself. And when that day comes, hopefully he'll be well enough to go out.

_~Later~_

The Doctor continued to tell Arthur stories each night before he went to bed and when he got his random daytime attacks. With every story, Arthur's nightmares and fits grew less and less common, each time lasting for a shorter amount of period as it did the previous one did. The Doctor was delighted at the progress that Arthur was recovering—his makeshift therapy was working (not that he had expected otherwise or anything). Soon Arthur began to be bored of the seemingly endless rooms in the TARDIS, and wanted to breathe some fresh air. At first, the Doctor denied his request, telling him that he was too dangerous for him to go outside (causing the boy to sulk in his room for a good hour or so). Now, however, the Doctor was running low on his excuses. Arthur was getting quickly better, and eventually the fits seemed to have stopped. He couldn't deny another request. The Doctor was dreading the day that Arthur would ask him again. He didn't have a legitimate excuse, and thus, no way to deny him access to the outside world.

"Doctor," Arthur tugged on his coat (the TARDIS had a cooler temperature on the inside, and he was thankful for that). "Doctor, I want to go outside."

The Doctor turned to look at Arthur. He sighed, and consented. "Alright. We can go outside. Since you're feeling better. You are alright, aren't you?"

"Yes, I feel fine. Brilliant, in fact," Arthur said, excitedly.

The Doctor looked at Arthur, "Do you want to go now, or wait a little? Or perhaps tomorrow—"

"No, I want to go today," Arthur interrupted. "I've been dying to breathe some fresh air."

"Okay, now it is. Allons-y," the Doctor chimed. He tried to put on a happy exterior for Arthur's sake. He still had a bad feeling about the island. He was loathe to go back onto the island.

Arthur beamed, "Allons-y!"

The two of them walked across the console room. Or, more accurately, Arthur bounded across the room while the Doctor took long shuffling strides next to him. Arthur rushed to outside, excitedly bouncing up and down next to the door.

"Oh, I'm so excited, Doctor. I think I might have forgotten the sky's blue, the trees' green, the warmth of the sunshine—"

The Doctor tiredly replied, "Arthur, please calm down. We won't go out unless you calm down. You never know when you may black out, alright?"

"Alright. But please? Let me go outside?" Arthur begged.

"I did agree. We can go now," the Doctor spoke as he pushed the door of the TARDIS open, revealing the lush green tropical forest of the island. As he opened the door, the humid air rushed into the cool, dry TARDIS room. He shrugged off his coat as quickly as possible, tossed it onto a coat hanger, and was dragged by Arthur outside.

"Everything—everything's so _green_. I don't remember things being so green before."

"That's probably because I moved you, so you've never actually seen this part of the jungle before—"

The Doctor was interrupted by Arthur's gasp. He had turned around without the Doctor noticing. Oh, the Doctor thought, he's seen the TARDIS on the outside.

"But-but" Arthur stammered. "It's so much bigger on the inside!"

He chuckled. "Indeed it is, Arthur."

"Can we go see the sky now? Where are we, anyway?"

"On the island. It's where you landed, with the other boys."

Arthur seemed to be pacified. "Oh," he blandly stated, seemingly remembering how they had ostracized him. "Well, let's go to the beach then. I haven't seen the beach in ages. I think we went once before, with the school."

The Doctor nodded. "Come along now. All—"

"Allons-y!" Arthur insolently smiled. The Doctor stared at the kid. Cheeky little bugger he is.

This time, the Doctor led Arthur towards the beach. They were at the foot of the cliff that they had first met on. The beach was surprisingly empty of boys (what happened to them, the Doctor wondered, they were usually on some part of the beach). The only thing that was on the beach were the shells that dotted the white sand. The waves crashed consistently onto shore, forming bubbles as they hit land. The sunlight reflected off the turquoise ocean, creating an illusion of sparkles that danced across the water.

Besides him, Arthur stared, mesmerized. He seemed like he had never seen anything like that before in his life (and probably never had, the Doctor thought sadly). The effect was startling, even for the Doctor. The island truly seemed like paradise. Emphasis on the word _seemed_. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his hearts. They were beating faster, and the ominous feeling had not disappeared. Instead it was heightened by a sort of humming that came from the island itself. He glanced around, hoping that a boar would not come up and gore Arthur as one had done James (poor lad, he had no chance, what had happened, the Doctor didn't even know).

"Doctor?" Arthur tried to gain his attention.

"Yes, Arthur?" The Doctor answered.

"Doctor, is it okay if we walk around? I want to see the rest of the island. I just don't want to meet any of the boys."

"Alright. Where do you want to go?"

"We can walk around and see where we end up?"

"Sounds like a plan. Allons-y."

Arthur grinned and grabbed the Doctor's hand. "Let's go. I want to see as much as this place as possible. Are there any animals here?"

"I've seen pigs and bugs and fish, but other than that, not really."

"Let's go see them then."

"We'll have to find them first," the Doctor muttered.

Arthur didn't seem to hear him as he dragged the Doctor across the island, pointing out every miniscule detail. As the trip went on, the worry that had plagued the Doctor began to lift. Perhaps he had been paranoid after all. Everything was going fine. Laughing at one of Arthur's explanation (the bug was a brilliant purple color because it had tried to eat a rainbow, but only managed to eat the purple part before it was chased away by an angry leprechaun), the Doctor walked alongside Arthur. He began to loosen up, pointing out things that Arthur missed (the brilliantly colored birds landed in the trees and they had gotten up close to see them). They laughed and joked around until the sun had begun to set, casting an orange glow upon the entire island as if it were on fire. The two climbed onto the cliff where they had first met and sat down to watch the sun set. The Doctor hoped that there would be enough light so they could make their way back to the TARDIS.

"Doctor, the sky's really beautiful, isn't it?" Arthur asked as he admired the landscape.

"It is. It looks like it's on fire, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but in a good way. Like the warmth of the fire. Not the burning part," observed Arthur.

"I agree. Fire can be so many things. But the one in the sky is just comforting."

Arthur nodded. The Doctor noticed that the air seemed to grow ever so slightly colder, probably because of the setting sun. The trees began to cast lengthy shadows that wanted to drown him in darkness. Evil laughter seemed to reverberate around them as a sort of rumbling. He glanced at Arthur, who seemed to have noticed anything.

"Hey Arthur?"

"Yeah?" the boy absently replied.

"Is it just me or does everything feel weird?"

Arthur shrugged halfway but then tensed. His eyes widened in shock as his body began to convulse. He thrashed and tried to hold it off, but couldn't. The Doctor reached out to grab him, but no. He missed. Arthur's violent twisting had propelled his body forward, into empty space. His body unnaturally twisted as he fell, dead before he even touched the once sparkling blue ocean that now was a murderous dark blue as it ate up the body of the five year old.

The Doctor sat there in shock. Arthur had been so well, just earlier. But then, he had a fit. The Doctor held back his tears. No, no. Arthur couldn't have. Oh, but he was, and he did. His fits had killed him. It hadn't been his fault. The island felt darker now that he had witnessed two deaths—two unnatural deaths that never should have happened. There was something wrong about these deaths. The Doctor couldn't hold it in anymore and the tears spilled for the five year old boy who had just recovered. Repression of memories did bad things to people, the Doctor reminded himself. He would not forget these deaths, but he wouldn't dwell on them either. He had to carry through, for the sake of Arthur, and for James.

The Doctor got up, and trudged back to the TARDIS. The island seemed laugh at him. _Run and cry, Time Lord_, the island seemed to mock him, _Always alone_. _Forever alone. The last of your kind. You will never find peace. Especially not here._ The laughter seemed to get louder and some sort of song began in his mind as the shadows thickened and seemed to swallow him up. The trees pressed against him and the air felt heavier upon his back. Perhaps he was imagining it all, to cope with the death of his only two friends on the island. But what if it was something else. What if it was the island itself? What had he done to offend the (rather inanimate) island?


	4. Sigmund Freud

Chapter 4: Sigmund Freud

The Doctor paced back and forth in the TARDIS library. These deaths were related, the Doctor pondered. He knew it. There were similarities between James and Arthur's deaths. Their deaths both defied their normal selves. James had been intelligent and cautious (or at least from what he had gleamed). And his death was caused by a moment of lapse in that curious intelligence. Conversation with James had shown the Doctor how he was a smart boy who was extremely influenced by his parents (his father in particular). But then, right after the nap, James fell prey to some selfish and kiddish desire to go to the beach. He had forgotten about everything else and lost himself to desire. The Doctor ran his hand through his hair. Everything about that seemed so out of character for the boy. Perhaps he hadn't gotten to know the boy well enough. But that didn't explain Arthur. Arthur had been well—he had stopped having fits caused by those memories his young mind tried to repress. He had stopped having attacks and nightmares well before they had left the TARDIS that day. It couldn't have been a coincidence that he happened to have a random attack the one day—the one moment—he could've been killed. He had wanted to see the island, the beach in particular. Was it something about that beach? Or just beaches in general (he made a mental note to avoid beaches as much as possible)? But both deaths had been somewhat caused by the boys' desire. That seemed important, but the Doctor couldn't place it. He reviewed his list—parental influence, desire repression, more desire.

The Doctor stopped his pacing of the room. He was in a library. How could he have been so blind (metaphorically speaking)? He had a large collection of books to use at his leisure. And he'll be damned if he didn't use them properly. He passed by his collection of _Harry Potter _books (oh how he had cried), he found his books on the psychology of the human mind. He scanned through them at a rate that would have caused a human's eyes to melt and drip out of their sockets (getting a little dark there, Doctor, he chastised himself). He couldn't find much about his situation though. Nothing about sudden changes in personality or random fits. He did, however, discover official names for some of his problems—"superego" for parental influence, "id" for overwhelming desire, and simply "repression" for the …well repression. But beyond that, his books didn't go through into much detail with them (or with some other terms like "ego", "psychoanalysis", and "neurosis"). The only other piece information was about "Freud". He assumed that that was the founder's name. Or perhaps the man (or woman) who had discovered it called them that. Hopefully the former; that would make things so much easier for him.

Freud. At least now the Doctor had something to go by. The Doctor continued to devour more physiology books. He eventually came upon something that told him he was correct. The man with the theory of those terms was called Freud, Sigmund Freud. Excitedly, the Doctor ran around the library trying to locate a book by the Viennan neurologist. Nothing. How—of all the brilliant neurologists and psychologist of all of time—had he missed this "Sigmund Freud"? He was truly intelligent. He sighed, if only he could go and talk to the man himself. But the TARDIS was still offline if he was—ahhhh…and now, as if to further crush his self-esteem, she came back online. Brilliant.

The Doctor got to work, pressing buttons and flipping switches on the TARDIS. He needed to see Freud and ask him about his theories. That wouldn't be strange, would it? He'd just ask the man about his theories and off he would go. He took the book that gave him the information and looked for a date—a year, more precisely. His eyes landed on the year 1898. And with a few more buttons, the TARDIS was off. He swore to himself he'd come back to save the kids. He wouldn't let any more of them die, James and Arthur's deaths were enough already.

The Doctor's thought process was interrupted by the sound of the TARDIS's parking brake. He moved towards the door and peaked outside. Outside he saw Vienna—at least, he assumed it was Vienna—the cobbled street empty in the early morning light. He opened the door and walked out; thankful for the cool, dry air that was a welcomed change from the island's tropical climate. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he strolled along the road. He glanced around. Freud could be in any one of these houses.

The sound of a galloping horse interrupted the crisp silence of the early morning. Pity, he thought. The silence was a nice change. The forest had been loud, back on the island due to the many birds. He glared at the rider.

"'Scuse me," the Doctor implored. "You know where I can find Sigmund Freud?"

"Well, I'd say he lives in one of these houses. Somewhere on this very road, in fact. He's a bit mad, really. You'll just have to find out the hard—"

A loud crashing sound interrupted the man. A door swung open and a man fell backwards onto the cobble street. A woman, presumably is wife, came out to glare at him. Boy, he wouldn't fancy being that man at the moment.

"And stay out!" the woman screeched. "Until you can keep control of your bloody mad mutterings."

"Bloody hell, woman. My mutterings are not useless. I've been developing a sort of theory," the man rubbed the back of his head.

"Sigmund—"the Doctor gasped. So this was Freud. "—we've been over this. The kids are scared of your ramblings, they call you mad, and the cigars aren't helping. You know they can't breathe well with the smoke in the air. At least do it outside."

"Martha, I'm not mad. Please let me back in," begged Freud.

"Not until you promise not to hide yourself in your office, muttering about "ego" or "id" or whatever you ramble on about," Martha snapped, exasperated.

"I-I can't. This is my life's work. I know this is important. One day, dearest, they'll be teaching about my 'mad mutters' as you so call them."

"Well then, you better find some place to house you, because you're not living here until you promise." And with that, Martha walked back in, slamming the door behind her.

"What am I going to do?" Freud mumbled. "Half of the town thinks I'm mad and the other half of town won't be able to afford to spare any space. What am I to do?"

"Well…" the Doctor interrupted the man's monologue. "You could come with me."

"Pray, who are you?" Freud inquired.

"Right, sorry. I'm the Doctor, and I assume you're Freud?"

"That would be me. What do you want with me?"

"I'd like to ask you about those 'mad mutterings' of yours."

Freud stared at him. "Of what importance would those be to you? Everyone else thinks these ideas are completely barmy."

"No reason, in particular."

"You're lying—otherwise why would you have bothered to track me down?" Freud calculatingly replied, narrowing his eyes. "Or are you one of those men in white suits in disguise to track me down. I've told you, I'm. Not. In. Sane."

"Oooh, you are good. Perhaps if you'd follow me. Thanks, for your help anyway," the Doctor addressed the horseman, who had already been galloping away.

"Follow me," the Doctor announced again as he headed for the TARDIS.

Freud looked at him oddly as they approached the TARDIS. "What's this?" he questioned (more like Freud was questioning his own sanity, the Doctor quietly chuckled).

"It's called a TARDIS—Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

"Time? Dimension? What is this? Have I truly gone mad?"

"Nah…" the Doctor smiled as he unlocked the TARDIS. "Just take a look inside."

Freud blinked and peered inside the TARDIS. He narrowed his eyes, perhaps believing that he had gone mad. Nevertheless he stepped in and walked around under the Doctor's supervision. And, like many others before him, he walked out the door to look at the TARDIS from the outside, circling the blue box.

"Why it's bigger on the inside," Freud exclaimed.

"Yeup, they always say that."

"They?" questioned Freud.

"Usually I'd have someone else with me to travel through time and space," The Doctor elaborated.

Freud stared at the Doctor, awestruck, "You weren't pulling my leg, then?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, and I can show you if you want. I just need to ask you a few questions about your theories on the human brain. Bit behind on that subject right about now."

"What for, they are 'mad mutterings' according to my wife anyway."

"Ahhh…but they're very real. You'll see soon enough when I take us to the island."

"Island? What Island?"

"Dunno. There are boys on it though. And they seem to be following your theories, Sigmund—can I call you Sigmund?" the Doctor rapidly asked.

"It's actually Sigismund, but I like your idea better. I think I'll remember that."

The Doctor looked a bit taken back. Who knew that Freud's real name was Sigismund and not Sigmund—and that he himself had given Freud the idea to do so. Ah well, wibbly wobbly timey wimey.

He smiled. "Well then, Sigmund, ready to go?"

"I've nowhere else to go. We might as well go now," Freud shrugged.

"Alright. Allons-y!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Allons-y? French?"

The Doctor nodded, "It means 'let's go'."

Freud sighed, "Lead the way then, Doctor."

_~Later~_

The silence that lay over the island was broken by the sounds of the TARDIS's arrival. Almost immediately, a man—Sigmund Freud—opened the door and almost flew outside. He circled the TARDIS as if he was expecting something. The Doctor curiously peered at Freud, wondering what he could possibly be thinking (he'd already explained once, what more did the man want from him). He watched as Freud crept feline-like around the TARDIS as if he was trying to figure out how it worked (perhaps Freud thought him some sort of magician?).

"What is this sorcery?" Freud asked. "This shouldn't be possible."

"Not sorcery, _science_, something you humans haven't developed yet. And before you ask, I'm not human, I'm a Time Lord, a sort of alien," he smoothly replied.

Freud stared at him oddly. "Anyway," he continued. "Welcome to the island."

Freud glanced around the jungle. "Any particular reason why you brought me here? You could've just asked me questions back home."

The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets (honestly he should grab a change of clothes, his normal suit and coat didn't quite cut this weather). "Well…" he began.

"Yes?" Freud spluttered quickly. To the Doctor, the man seemed excited to know why he was brought here. A little too excited, actually.

"Come along, now. If you'd follow me," the Doctor stated as he began walking off in a random direction. Hopefully, he'll be able to find somewhere to observe the boys. If not, he'd be able to fake his way into knowing more about the island than he actually did. It didn't hurt to give a better impression, did it?

"So, Doctor. You tracked me down for a reason—now, what's that reason?" Freud persistently inquired.

Sighing, he quickly replied, "There are these boys, on this island, met two of them—both exceptionally nice lads—but they both died. I've a few theories why. I need some information from you about your theories."

"Theories? How would you know about them? I've yet to tell anyone," Freud huffed.

"Time traveler, remember? I wanted to know about your ideas on repression, ego, superego, id," he listed.

Freud stopped in his tracks. He paused, letting everything sink in. "I decided on _id_? Bloody hell—would've been better if I'd gone with…" his mutters were lost to the Doctor as they became wordless sentences. Evidently this was what Freud's wife was talking about. It seemed like Freud liked to voice his thoughts aloud. And when his thoughts outpaced his ability to voice them aloud….evidently they became the "mad mutterings" that the man had become noted in his town for.

"Sigmund, Sigmund" repeated the Doctor, trying to gain the man's attention. "Hello? Anyone there?" He resisted the urge to knock on the man's head.

"Oh, yes. Doctor. What were we talking about again?" Freud blinked.

The Doctor started walking again. "We were talking about your theories. You mentioned something about id…"

Freud's eyes became hazy and he began to splutter out random sounds. The Doctor shook Freud out of his trance.

"Sigmund. Concentrate." He commanded.

Freud shook his head. "Sorry," he quivered. "I just can't remember what happened."

The Doctor sighed, running his hand through his hair. This might be a while. "Just," he started. "Tell me about your theories and then we can go observe the boys or something."

Surprisingly this time Freed didn't begin his rambling. Instead he questioned, "Boys?"

"The boys," the Doctor plainly stated. He explained the boys' situation on the island—how they got there and his adventures with James and Arthur. The entire time, Freud listened with intense interest—or so it seemed to the Doctor. Who knows with this man?

"Sounds brilliant Doctor. I think that's doable," Freud agreed. "I must ask you to help me out of my, er, trances when I start to rant, savvy?"

"Alright. Although I must say, you are quite hard to snap out of your rants. Rather like me, actually. Although mine's is voluntary—most of the time, at any rate." The Doctor rambled.

Sigmund nodded. Clasping his hands together, he said, "So, Doctor, shall we begin?"

He grinned. This seems like fun. "Let's do this."

Freud began to pace the forest floor. "What topics did you have in mind? Hopefully I've already developed these theories. Would be quite a situation if I didn't, wouldn't it?"

The Doctor shrugged, "Hope not. But ah, perhaps id, superego, and repression. Although if you've the time, perhaps theory, psychoanalysis, neurosis, and ego (although I suppose ego goes with superego and id from what I've read). The rest might come in handy later, as I presume you won't be staying?"

"Probably not. The missus will begin to worry, and I'd hate to be 'part from my kids too long," Freud shook his head.

He had expected as such. The Time Lord glanced around the forest. "Whenever you're ready, Sigmund."

Freud nodded, "Let's begin with id. Imagine your desires, your wishes, your wants. Think about what would happen if you didn't have restraints—ego and superego. You wouldn't be able to hold back your lust—whether it be bloodlust, sexual lust, or lust for earthy possessions. It gives us humans animalistic characters, as it makes up most animals and young children who know nothing but desire for survival. As the human mind begins to develop, we want other things. Things that many animals wouldn't care for. Unique the human species is. We always want something. And usually whatever we want for isn't so good for us. It's natural for you to have this id, but too much of it causes an imbalance within your mind. "

The Doctor blinked. Perhaps it wasn't only humans who were affected. The neurologist might have made an important discovery for not only the inhabitants on Earth, but the whole universe. Like his desire for Rose, oh how he'd missed her. He wanted her—to hug her, to press his lips again—

No. He couldn't think of that. Seems like his id had taken his thoughts for a while. Bloody hell.

"Sigmund," the Doctor began. "What if, what if I have, erm witnessed this phenomenon among, er, other species?"

Freud stared. "Oh, that's what you mean. Forgot you were not er, human," he stuttered.

The Doctor nodded in agreement. He wouldn't tell Freud who specifically (he couldn't be running around with people knowing his weaknesses), but telling him how he felt couldn't hurt.

"So," the Doctor tempted. "These feelings are instinctive and desire driven?'

"Yes, Doctor."

"What part of the brain would this use?"

Freud smiled slightly. "Ahh…well I don't know what physical part of the brain id resides in. However, I have come to the conclusion that it is part of the unconscious mind—a non-physical aspect of the brain."

"So, it would technically be possible for other species, intelligent life forms at the very least, to have this sort of aspect?" the Doctor theorized.

"It seems that that would be apparent now."

"Okay then. That's enough of the id. Let's hop onto the next one," the Doctor coughed, seeing the topic starting to get off track.

"From id, we have the superego. Basically it's the opposite of id. Bound by rules—especially those made by superiors—it becomes a very strict conscience of the mind. It holds back the id and keeps the ego in check. As it builds off parental and society influences, this is the part of the mind that is built through outside factors. These moral standards and rules become a large part of the person's identity. However, it is possible to develop a superego without parental and society influences. The person simply has to make up their own rules and follow them. Another thing is that it will appear even without the actual influence's presence, often unconsciously. It is, like the id, part of the unconscious mind after all," Freud lectured.

The Doctor found this intriguing. The man had an exceptional knowledge of the mind, especially for his time. The most interesting thing was that he felt that James had shown these characteristics predominately. What Freud did not explain, was the sudden change he had seen within James.

"What about a sudden change between the two?" he quipped. "I saw that with one of the boys on the island—James Stagg, lovely boy he was. At first, he was so filled with superego, talking about his parents, being influenced by them, bound by the rules they set up. But then, the next morning he was just consumed by id. Is that normal?"

Freud stopped his frantic pacing to stare at the Doctor. "I-I-I've never heard of such a thing. Slow changes, yes. But in a span of less than a day? That should be impossible. Perhaps you are mistaken, Doctor."

The Doctor numbly nodded, pretending to agree. He knew, however, that he wasn't mistaken. There was something going on here, the Doctor thought to himself. But what? He heard a slight humming within his mind but he dismissed it.

"Continue on, Sigmund?" the Doctor said aloud.

"Right. So, ego. Ego is basically your conscious abilities and logic skills. It makes peace and compromises between superego and id. It gets id what it wants, generally, without going against superego's rules. Ingenious really. It's a balance of things with a logical and conscious touch."

"Haven't really seen this within the boys, yet. I'm sure it'll turn up eventually. Seems like the boys always manage to do that."

Sigmund nodded absently. "Yes, yes. I'm sure of it too. What else did you want me to talk about—"

But he was interrupted by the sound of boy s screeching.

"Hide," the Doctor hissed.

They ran into the jungle brush, hoping they wouldn't be spotted. Just as they dove into a bush, wild looking boys appeared, brandishing makeshift spears and very real knives. The Doctor and Freud watched as the boys came passed them. With wide eyes, they observed the children.

One of the kids inhaled deeply. "The pig—I can smell its blood on the wind. We must kill it."

_Yes_. The Doctor he heard something say. A melody began to form in his ears, pleasantly humming a delightful tune. _Kill the pig. Cut his throat. Kill the pig. Bash him in._ The Doctor tried to locate the origin of the voice, but he couldn't seem to pinpoint it. He glanced at Freud, but it didn't seem like the neurologist had heard anything or was at least not affected by it. Odd, perhaps it was a telepathic voice? Maybe that's how it influenced the boys—like James and Arthur! But where was the voice coming from? The island itself?

One of the boys paused. "Wait, Jack," he growled. "There are prints—human prints. Much too big to be one of ours."

The first boy stepped up to look at the footprints (damn their carelessness). The Doctor assumed that this was Jack. Jack bent down to observe these tracks.

"Yes," he snarled. "There are other humans. But how? Rodger, go and tell Ralph."

"Does Ralph really need to know, Jack?" Rodger, he guessed, asked.

Jack narrowed his eyes, "Point taken. It'll be our secret, boys. We'll hunt them down and kill them."

"Why kill them?" another boy chimed. The Doctor could hear the melody tremble. Where was that coming from?

"'Cause it's probably the beast trying to trick us," Jack cried. "Any other person would've shown their ugly faces by now."

Oi! He resented that. He was gorgeous, look at his hair. Those boys didn't know what they were talking about.

"Come on, Jack, let's go. We need to follow the pig," one boy said after a brief pause.

Jack nodded. "Right. I'll hunt it down after we find this pig." And with that, they dispersed.

The Doctor slowly stood up, "Sigmund, what do you think of those particular boys?"

Freud looked a little shaken. He was paler than before. He looked at the Doctor with fearful eyes. "They're—they're so consumed by their id. Soon they'll be no more than mere be-beasts," his voice wobbled.

The Doctor agreed, "It's not normal for boys like this to find so much pleasure in killing. But what's happened to them?" _The song_, he heard a voice whisper. _Always the song_, he heard before the music in his ears drowned it out.

Freud didn't reply, leaving him wondering what the man was thinking. Finally, Freud said, "Let's go back to your ship. I think we'll both be more comfortable there. Then we can finish our little discussion."

Nodding the Doctor smiled, "Allons-y."

_~Later~_

"That's it? That's all to it?" the Doctor stared pointedly at Freud.

Freud nodded, "That's all I have right now."

"Blimey, that's genius. Never thought about it that way. I was more into physics than psychology anyway," the Doctor said, trying to regain his dignity at not knowing something.

"Never one to lose a battle, eh, Doctor?"

"Nope. Never. I always win," the Doctor grinned.

Freud shook his head amused.

"So, let's put it at id is desire and instinct, superego is ruled by rules, ego is your conscious and logical thoughts and actions, repression is the unconscious act of hiding bad memories that leads to unconscious actions, erm, neurosis are diseases of the brain that doesn't cause hallucinations and delusions, and psychoanalysis and therapy are the same thing, which is the analysis of all of the above and the treatment to try to take care of the above?" the Doctor summarized.

"Well done, Doctor. Didn't think you had it in you," Freud teased.

The Doctor glared at him. How dare the neurologist insult his intelligence, even in jest. He was the Doctor, the Last of the Time Lords of the planet Gallifrey—

"Relax, Doctor. I wasn't trying to anger you."

The Doctor looked miffed. He had known that. Honestly, what did the man take him for, a fool? "Yeah, well…"

The two satin the TARDIS library in silence. After a few (seven minutes and three seconds), rather tense, minutes, the Doctor broke the silence. "Do you want to see more of the boys?"

Freud agreed, "Alright. Let's go analyze some children."

The Doctor beamed, "Yes, we need to study them."

Bloody hell he sounded like a pedophile now. He was studying the wild, half-naked boys on a deserted island for Pete's sake. And the fact that he often visited children and end up finding them again when they grew older didn't help either.

They left the TARDIS and reentered the jungle. From the jungle they made it to the beach where the boys were encamped. The Doctor found a tree covered in the just the right amount of foliage—enough to cover them, but not enough to obscure the view—and it was a gorgeous specimen as well.

The Doctor and Freud waited for over an hour (one hour, seven minutes, and two seconds) before any of the boys appeared.

"Well. We shan't find what we're looking for at this rate," a voice carried over.

At once, both the Doctor and Freud became very alert. "I believe that one is called Ralph," the Doctor whispered to Freud. "Heard 'em talking a while back."

"Now for the mountain."

"Shouldn't we go back to Piggy before dark?"

"Piggy?" Freud questioned.

"One of the boy's names, don't fret over it too much. Poor boy, he doesn't like his name much," he explained.

"We've got to start the fire again," Ralph commanded.

Freud pointed at him. "Strong ego, that one has," he muttered. "Very logical too. Makes for a good leader."

The Doctor shrugged. "He is leader. Does a fine job, I suppose. Haven't been paying much attention, really."

"We'll kill it," Jack's loud voice boldly proclaimed a he brandished the spear.

"Kill what?" Freud asked the Doctor.

"Curious little bugger, aren't you? They think there's some beast on the mountain. Honestly. Is there really be a beast? I think I would've found it by now."

"Got a lot of id in him, doesn't he?"

The Doctor concurred. Watching the boys head up to the mountain. Now why would they do that?

"Sigmund," he said aloud. "Do you want to follow them? Looks like they're going on a hike."

Freud glanced up at the sky, "A bit late isn't it?"

"Come on, let's just go." The Doctor dragged Freud by the hand. This was going to be a while, he thought sadly. The music that had been ringing through his ears hummed contently.

_~Later~_

The Doctor and Freud walked diligently, paralleling the boys'. They walked in silence in case one of the boys picked up upon their voices. Occasionally they heard brief statements or words that carried over the wind. The boys stopped every so often, and when they did, he and Freud halted in their tracks to listen in, as they were doing now. And, the Doctor noted. The higher they went up the mountain, the louder the song became in his mind. Was the source at the top of the mountain?

"If you're frightened of course—" they heard Jack shot. The Doctor watched closely as Ralph rounded on Jack, telling him something that went unheard.

"I went too. And that was daylight." Jack snapped.

"All right. Who wants to climb the mountain now?"

Silence ensued. The Doctor stared around, marveling at every trivial thing to keep his mind active. He was only shaken from his thoughts (the stars are actually visible for once) when Freud shoved him, nearly causing him to fall down the mountainside (again). Blinking the Doctor refocused on the conversation, that was quickly turning into an argument, between the boys.

The music in his ears sped up as Jack spat viciously, "I'm going up to the mountain." The Doctor watched as Ralph tense. He could feel the sparks rubbing between the two (no, not in _that _way). The difference between ego and id was becoming obvious.

Jack repeated his exclamation. "I'm going up the mountain to look for the beast now, coming?" he sneered as if he was challenging them.

"I don't mind," Ralph voice came out suddenly, as if said upon impulse. Beside him the Doctor heard Freud inhale sharply. The music's beat pulsed, causing a ringing within his ears.

"If you don't mind, of course."

"Oh, not at all."

Then the Doctor watched as the boys continue to walk up the mountain. He motioned to Freud, who nodded. Freud seemed a lot more interested than he had before. They trekked up the mountain, silent. The Doctor fiddled with his thin fingers as he walked quietly alongside the neurologist. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't, not without the chance they could be heard.

"Doctor," Freud hissed silently. "There's something unnatural going on here. I can feel it. And hear it. I hear something."

"Music?"

"Dunno, it's too faded."

The Doctor nodded, not wanting to speak anymore. He had already suspected the unnaturalness of the situation. The music, however, was a new discovery. So it wasn't just him, but why could he hear it more clearly than the others? They turned away and continue up the path.

As they neared the top of the island, hissing noise came from above them, blending in with the peaceful music, giving it an eerie tune. Freud's eyes widened and he shivered.

Jack croaked, "I saw a thing on top."

"Keep a good lookout. It may be following," the Doctor heard a voice say. A thing? He had explored the island and there wasn't a single sign of something out of the ordinary on the mountain top. They were children, so he supposed it wouldn't be abnormal for them to make things up. He did hear some time ago about nightmares and a beast from the boys, particularly the younger ones. He hadn't paid attention then, thinking that it was only children's fantasy. OF course, it could still be wild imagination. But that wouldn't explain the sharp slithering noise from earlier. _Be afraid. _The mountain seemed to whisper in his ear as the melody became sharper and more erotic. _Be very afraid. _But now was not the moment for such references. The island became overwhelming unpleasant for him. His ears rung, beating to an odd, wild pattern . Echoes seemed to roll down the mountain side, hitting him mentally. The hissing seemed to formulate words in his mind. _Failure. The last one. All alone. Incompetent. Despicable. Killer. Murderer. Rose—_

The Doctor blinked, nudging Freud he managed to cough out, "Did you—did you feel that? Hear that?"

Freud paled. "I don't know what I heard. Am I mad? This isn't right. Are you real?"

The Doctor looked over at the kids. They didn't seem to be affected at all.

"You only imagined it because nothing would bulge. Not any sort of creature," the Doctor heard Ralph say.

"A frog," a boy said.

Jack's body shivered and he muttered something to the boys.

"We'll go and look," a surprised looking Ralph blurted out.

"What is this? This shouldn't be. No. How? Not possible? Mad? Brilliant?" Freud mumbled besides him.

The Doctor watched as Ralph led the boys further up the mountain. He dragged Fred, who protested, muttering something about "unnatural" and "mad", up the mountain to observe the boys with him.

"Sigmund. Listen to me. Whatever's up there, we'll stay hidden, or we're dead. Got it?" he ordered.

Freud numbly nodded (or at least the doctor assumed it was a nod). They crept behind the boys and up the mountainside. The Doctor winced as he remembered his fall. Thank goodness for his fast healing. The song chuckled in his ear.

"Come on," they heard Ralph's voice announce.

Freud shifted uneasily again. The Doctor silently agreed, the song was starting to drive him mad. There was something wrong about all of this. They followed the children but didn't notice anything. But apparently the boys hadn't either. They looked around confusedly.

"Let's creep forward on hands and knees. Maybe it's asleep," Jack suggested.

Freud began to follow the instructions, but the Doctor caught him and shook his head. He had felt so something other than Jack's voice whisper the same thing within his head. It whispered in a voice of poisoned honey, but it seemed so pleasant and relaxing. Mesmerizing, he concluded. The song raged within his ears like it was enraged.

The Doctor blinked. The island seemed to whisper things into his ears and the song seemed to make his thoughts change ever so slightly. _Leave_ a voice said. _Leave the boys to die. They are doomed anyway. _No. He couldn't. He shook his head. What was happening to him?

As the boys crawled on, they stopped suddenly, failing to smother their screams. A shadow of something—a moving something—loomed before them. That hadn't been there before, the Doctor recalled. He had been there. It was there that he threw the locater away. The locater, he pondered on that before discarding the thought. This-this thing was new.

Freud seemed ready to run down the mountain and lock himself in the TARDIS (even thought the Doctor knew that he wouldn't be able to open it anyway). "Unnatural," he mumbled. "Not right. Voices. Music. Song."

The wind picked up, blowing leaves and ashes (of a fire, the Doctor noted. The boys' fire? Or another?) into the air, whirling into different shapes.

"Over there, where there used to be a gap in the rock. A sort of hump—see? Someone loudly proclaimed. Blimey, if he was any louder they would be rescued right now.

"Scared?" another hissed.

"Can you see anything?"

"There—"

Bloody hell. They wouldn't last long, would they? Their whispers would allow the beast-thing to locate them. Perhaps the beast was some sort of alien (a deaf alien judging from the noise the boys were making). The wind picked up even more and the music in his mind danced along with it, cackling gleefully, and leaves blew in his face. Ashes clouded the air, blurring shapes. He could see only silhouettes of the boys clearly, and details were nonexistent. The bright moonlight shown through the ashes and leaves, creating a haunting look to the mountain top. That light that broke through the gaps in the ashes shined upon something—a humanoid something. He couldn't identify it. It lifted its head as the wind roared in his ears, briefly drowning out the song. But the wind seemed to sing another song, whispering horrible note combinations, all way off key. _Afraid yet, Doctor? _The wind breathed in his ear. _Run. Face the music._

He stood there trying to comprehend what was happening. Screams and footsteps wrought the air as the boys realized that there was a beast in front of them. The Doctor dragged Freud out of the way and down the mountain side. Freud's eyes had grown die and he was trembling. The Doctor noted the wide pupils and the quivering lips. The man was terrified out of his wits.

"It's wrong. All wrong," he muttered.

"Sigmund. You can't go. No. Relax. It'll be alright. Remember your wife, Martha. Your kids?"

"Martha?"

"Yes, Martha," the Doctor sighed, relieved. "Stay sane for her. Don't go mad."

Freud silently nodded. The trekked down the mountain, eventually reaching the TARDIS. The Doctor unlocked the door and they stumbled in. Freud immediately rushed for the library and collapsed in an armchair.

"I want to go home," he whispered.

The Doctor nodded. "After the night passes. You need the rest."

Freud's eyes darted side to side. "There's something very wrong about this island, Doctor. So much id—desire—want—greed. The boy, Ralph shines with ego. He is hope."

"No. Relax. Don't think. Here. Have a cuppa'." The Doctor handed Freud a cup of tea he had just prepared in the kitchen (which he may or may not have spiked with some dreamless sleep medication from the 2530's). "Just go to bed."

"Where though?" Freud looked around confusedly.

"Right…Just the next room to the left. Should be an empty bedroom."

Freud thanked the Doctor and left. He sat there in the library, thinking about the earlier events.

"Bloody hell, this whole island is completely barmy. What's happening?"

He rubbed his temples. He shuffled back to his bedroom. He often didn't need sleep, but today he needed it desperately.

_~Later~_

The Doctor milled around the kitchen. He had been dwelling about yesterday's events all night. Now he had to wait for Freud to wake up.

Seven minutes passed before Freud's voice came drifting around.

"Doctor?" he called. "How do I get out of this place? Bloody hell, this place is huge."

"I'm in here," the Doctor answered. "Follow my voice."

Freud poked his head in. "Ahh, there you are. I've had the most brilliant revelation."

"And that would be?" the Doctor inquired.

"That id, ego, and superego are all caused by certain situations. Influences can be caused through these situations as well. This is an important discovery."

"I suppose you'll want to leave now, Sigmund?"

Freud nodded, "The missus will be worried."

The Doctor cuckold. "She didn't seem like the worrying type to me."

"She's real sweet when you meet her. Always giving in to me."

The Doctor stared. "What?" he asked.

"She's subordinate to me, that's what I remember. All women are, after all."

"Bloody hell no," the Doctor cried. "The voice got you. Or madness has settled in."

"Don't be silly Doctor."

The Doctor sighed. "I suppose it's time for you to go home, then."

Freud nodded enthusiastically. He started chirpily blathering about his ideas for books and the psychoanalysis on himself he was planning. The Doctor began to work the TARDIS. The box began to fade and travel as Freud continued to babble cheerfully. What was going on?

Soon enough (four minutes, twenty-four seconds too slow) they arrived in Vienna.

"Here we are, Vienna," the Doctor gestured with his arm.

"Excellent," Freud nodded. "Nice to meet you, Doctor."

"And you, Sigmund." The Doctor stuck out his hand and Freud shook it.

"Be sure to visit another time, Doctor," Freud said as he walked towards his home. "I'm sure to have another book waiting to be read."

The Doctor grinned and waved. He saw Martha Freud open the door and hug her husband, pulling inside. He returned to the TARDIS and transported himself back to the island.

"I've got to figure out what's going on here," the Doctor muttered to himself. He collapsed on his bed (he was doing that more and more often now, wasn't he?), thinking, bloody hell, why me? The song invaded his mind and laughed before sleep poured over the Doctor again.


	5. Just an Average Jack

Chapter 5: Just an Average Jack

The Doctor put his face in his hands. He felt like everything was collapsing upon him. Brilliant. When the wind howled he could hear a soothing, pleasant voice telling him he should flee. That he was a failure. He was frustrated. He couldn't tell if he made up these own thoughts. The thoughts were like his own. And yet, they weren't. He rubbed his face raw. What was happening? The boys weren't improving either. They were growing steadily more like savages and less like human boys.

Upset, he stood up and walked out of the TARDIS. He needed to get out. He had to find a way to get the boys off the island. The tracker, he thought. He had to activate it. Someone must be tracking it. But he had no idea where it was. Somewhere down the mountain was the most specific place he could think of. He strode across the forest, towards the mountain. But the beast. He shook his head. The beast was probably no more than just an illusion. That night was murky. And he didn't have to go all the way up to the mountain, anyway. Only partially. He was sure he'd be able to find it. He groaned. This might be harder than he expected.

_Give up_, the shadows seemed to say as they began to condense and the sun was hidden beneath the clouds, dancing to the beat of the music. They seemed to gain substance and tried to attack him. He shook himself to clear his head. When he looked again, there was nothing out of the ordinary. The Doctor rubbed his temples. Blimey, this was going to be harder than he would have ever imagined. He never hallucinated. Or perhaps he wasn't hallucinating.

He diligently walked up the back side of the mountain where he had thrown the tracker. He was an idiot. Why hadn't he just disabled the bloody thing and pocketed it. Actually now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure if he had turned it off. He ran a hand through his hair. Where to start?

He turned around as he heard footsteps approach. He saw one of the boys—Jack—march out of the brush, muttering something. Jack halted when he saw the Doctor, and stared openly at him, mouth gaping. He silently hoped that the boy wouldn't remember the indirect promise he'd made to kill him.

"Er, well, this is a bit awkward," he stumbled. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor, Doctor who?" Jack snarled in a way that he thought was menacing.

The Doctor peered at the rather small, ginger boy. "Just call me Doctor, Jack. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the other boys?"

Jack glared at him. "What other boys? How do you know my name?"

"I know all," the Doctor said jokingly in a "spooky" voice.

Jack's eyes widened. "You're that-that-that thing. It makes me do stuff. It always says it knows all. And it sings in my mind."

"Thing?"

"The one that's in my head. It makes me do stuff. It guides me. I don't really know what it is. It scares me sometimes," explained Jack.

"What, how does it do this?" the Doctor questioned. He had a suspicion but he wasn't sure.

"I don't know. Sometimes I have these thoughts. They seem like my thoughts. But-but. It tells me to do things. It's usually there. Whispering things. But it's gone now. Except for the song, the song is always there, humming," Jack replied.

So he had been right. Which means he wasn't hallucinating (or growing crazy). He had been worried there for a moment. "What kind of things, Jack?"

"Like-like…" Jack faltered. "Bad things."

"It's okay, tell me."

The boy looked at him with fearful eyes. These eyes were much different than those he normally saw on the boy's face. He mumbled something, but the Doctor didn't quite catch it.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"To kill the pigs. I wanted meat. And-and…"

"And you killed them."

Jack nodded, ashamed. The Doctor put a hand on the small boy's shoulders. "It'll be alright, Jack. What's done is done."

"But-but these thoughts. These sounds. The music. I don't even know what it is. Sometimes, it flows into my mind and I forget everything. It sounds so pretty, like nothing can go wrong. I wanted to listen. Like now. Now I'm alone. Because I was mad at Ralph. Why am I even like that? I'm usually not like. I don't know. Who am I?"

The Doctor stared. Sure Jack had seemed so much different than how he had seen acting around the other boys, but he had assumed because he looked like an adult. Now, however, he wasn't so sure. Like Freud had said, something was off. Jack had been a big capsule of id. Now he just seemed like any other boy (albeit a bit weepier). Was it the island? The voice that came from the shadows had breathed its horrid breath across the island, making the children do things they aren't supposed to. The Doctor shook his head. That didn't even make sense. And he always made sense. He was always on top of the game. But now—now he had no idea what was going on. Was this alien in source? He couldn't find anything to support that.

Jack leaned against his spear. "I just don't know anymore, Doctor. Can you fix me?"

"I dunno. I'm not actually a doctor," he said, amused.

"Why are you called the Doctor then?"

"Long story, it's just a name I liked," he shrugged.

Jack paced, leaving the spear on the ground. He muttered to himself, and seemed like he was arguing with himself. "I just can't anymore," he yelled angrily.

"Can't what, Jack?" the Doctor patiently stated.

"I can't control my actions. Sometimes, I can't remember things. I'd be doing something normal and then suddenly there was a pig. Sometimes there are flashes of things. Red blood, squealing pigs, spears, yelling. I don't. I can't." Jack wept.

This was more serious than he had thought. The id was so in control that the poor boy couldn't remember much of what he did. It consumed him, burned him from the inside. He was the vessel for the id, and the id didn't care if Jack was destroyed in the process. But where did this id come from? He knew from Freud that it was in everyone, but in this amount?

"I'm so done," he wailed. "I can't anymore, Doctor. I'm afraid I'm going to do something really bad. The song is too powerful"

The Doctor rubbed his chin. "Well, how many times has this happened to you? Are you usually as, er, weepy as this?"

Jack shook his head. "No, I don't know what's going on. I'm usually the leader, I guess. But now I'm separated. I don't know why I did it. I need help. I can't."

The Doctor thought he heard laugher emit from the ground. It seemed to delight in Jack's misery. It was like a premonition. _Soon…_

The Doctor blinked. He couldn't let the island—the song—take him over. "Jack," he demanded. "Just calm down. You can do this. Be yourself. Don't listen to the voices. Don't give in to the song."

Jack inhaled deeply, "Okay."

"Good, now tell me everything."

"I'm just an average boy, really. I just like to be in control more, I guess? Sometimes, the others do things I don't like. I want to fix that. I want to help them."

The Doctor nodded. The id seemed to enhance and twisted his original intentions. This must be beyond the normal id. Was this some sort of neurosis? It could be. There was no way just one little boy's id can create such a problem like this. But he seemed so animalistic and wild before this. What had happened? What had he done? He had to take care of the boy. _It wouldn't last_, a voice in his mind hissed.

"But then, everything seems to weigh down upon me. Everything seems to crush me. My parents want me to do so many things. I'm already so ahead of everyone else. My friends look to me as a leader, but I can't do everything. And after that, after that. I get out of control," he continued angrily.

"It's okay. Don't let things overwhelm you. They are just normal things. They don't matter that much. You can control it. Tell your parents—"

"I do, but they continue to do it," Jack interrupted.

The Doctor nodded. "That happens, erm, so just continue, I suppose."

Jack paced, bending down to grab his spear, which he threw across into the forest, hitting a tree before clanging on the floor. The Doctor thought the boy let his anger get in the way of everything much too easily. How could he tell the boy this without angering him (he wouldn't particularly like a spear through him).

He decided to tell him straightforward. "Jack," he began. "Calm down. You need to control your anger. That's one of the problems."

Unfortunately for him, Jack rounded upon him. "Who're you telling me what to do?" he snarled.

He had figured it out. The id—the voice—took advantage of Jack's short temper to turn him into what they wanted. But how would he tell him without being impaled. The boy also had his mood swings. Hadn't he been on the verge of crying less than an hour ago?

"Jack, please, just calm down. It's the Doctor. Don't listen to the voice. Don't lose yourself in the music."

Jack hesitated. He blinked, asking, "Doctor? Did it happen again?"

The Doctor nodded. Of course Jack wouldn't remember anything. This was going to be difficult he thought. And he still had to find the tracker. Bugger.

He looked around. Nothing. "Maybe we should walk around a little," he suggested.

Jack nodded. "Alright, fine with me. Just help me Doctor."

He noticed the sudden change in mood. The boy had as many mood swings as the average teenage girl. And he'd definitely met enough teenage girls in his almost a thousand years to prove that theory.

The Doctor nodded and began walking, keeping a look out for the tracker. He groaned. He realized that it could be stuck in one of the trees. He didn't have time to check that. He would only hope it was lying on the ground somewhere. He didn't say a word and continued searching, Jack walking alongside like a faithful puppy.

"Doctor," Jack tugged at his suit. "What are we looking for?"

"Who says we're looking for something?" the Doctor replied cryptically.

"I don't know, you just look like you're looking for something."

He sighed, "Well, it's kind of like this-this rectangle thing. Might have a light on still—I don't actually remember turning that thing off. It's different than what you'd see on the island."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Oh, I think I've seen it. A glowing light. Follow me Doctor."

The Doctor eagerly followed the boy who scurried off. He soon arrived in a meadow covered in shadow. He could feel the temperature drop between the shadows and the sunlight. He shivered. Something was unnatural about this place.

"Over there, Doctor," Jack pointed at a light. "Is that it?"

The Doctor nodded, sashaying across the darkness. The shadows seemed to become liquid, flowing over him, threatening to drown him. The song began to roar within his ears, but he ignored it. But he saw the light (oh how reminiscent of classical death scenes) and he walked towards it. He reached the source of the light and saw that it was the tracker. He climbed the trees and grabbed the tracker. He had done it.

"I've done it, Jack! I've got the tracker!"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Tracker, Doctor?"

The Doctor glanced at the boy wearily. "Yes, the tracker. It tracks things. Now I can get you boys home safely."

Jack grabbed a nearby branch and threw it at the Doctor. "Was it _you_ that put us here?" he spat.

"No, it wasn't me. I don't know who did it. I was here when you—"

Jack sneered. "Don't lie to me Doctor. You know more than you should, especially about us. I shouldn't have trusted you. You know too much. I only need to listen. It'll tell me what to do—what's right and what's wrong. But you, I can't trust you."

"No, Jack. Don't give in. I don't care how nice it sounds, but don't give in to the song."

Jack's eyes darkened. "I can do whatever I want. If I want the music to be a part of me, I'll let it. Nothing can go wrong with the song. It makes me happy, and you don't, Doctor."

He didn't know what to do, so he reached out and tried to envelop the boy, it had after all worked before. But this time it didn't. Jack clawed at his face angrily and broke free, running away. Hopefully the boy wouldn't remember him and tell the other children. The Doctor set off for the TARDIS to examine the tracker. At least Jack didn't die, he thought bitterly. But perhaps things would have been better if he had. Some things were worse than death.


	6. Hidden

Chapter 6: Hidden

The Doctor heard the roar of the island within his head as he walked outside. The thought about the beast on the mountain had haunted him until he gave up and got out of the TARDIS. He was going to figure out what the "beast" really was. But of course being him, he got sidetracked (or maybe he wanted a break from saving the world and was stalling). He saw fluttering butterflies and followed them into a meadow. The same meadow he found the tracker in—the same place he had lost Jack to the darkness. The shadows still flooded the clearing that should have been decorated with sun beams. The only difference was that butterflies danced around it. The song's beat became stronger and louder as he approached the center. _Sacrifice, _it murmured to him. What did he have to sacrifice? Weren't two boys good enough? What more did he have to suffer through? He hoped that the tracker was working. He had taken it apart after his encounter with Jack and rewired it so it sent out a larger pulse, invisible except to those who created it. Now he would have to wait. And hope that the source was still locating it. And that they would be willing to rescue the boys. He had looked at the machine and knew it was of human origin. And they would surely help their own kind, wouldn't they?

As he was lost in his own thoughts, he almost tripped over his own shoes (again; he was getting very clumsy these days). As the Doctor wobbled awkwardly on the tips of his feet, he saw a boy holding his hands to his temple as if in pain. Thankful that he hadn't alerted yet another boy to his presence on the island, he restored his balance. He was about to turn around and walk out of the meadow when he was deafened by the roar of the music. At first he had felt that it was overwhelming pleasant, but then it became a satanic screech within him. He resisted the urge to drop to his knees and cover his ears, knowing that his weakness would only encourage it more.

He followed the boy's gaze only to find himself staring at a bleeding pig's head. Literally. It was bleeding, and it looked fresh. And even at this early stage it was already gaining flies that swarmed around its head. He winced. It could only be Jack and his boys. He was torn between feeling guilty that he had allowed Jack to become a savage again and being glad that Jack hadn't died.

"_You are a silly little boy,"_ he heard something say menacingly within his mind. It was being transmitted at a low perception field, he concluded, a level which some humans could hear as it didn't seem like the normal hissing words. This felt more physical—more real. He wondered if the boy could hear it coherently. From what he saw from Jack, he assumed that most of the boys couldn't hear it well. Many people couldn't after all. But there was always that one person that stood out.

"_Don't you agree? Aren't you just a silly little boy?" _The Doctor heard the voice once again. It echoed within his mind, but he knew it wasn't directed at him. That meant that the boy could hear the voice. The Doctor struggled to remember the boy's name. Simon, he recalled. But he didn't know much about this boy. He was just simply there. But now it seems that there was something special about this Simon.

"_Well then, you'd better run off and play with the others. They think you're batty. You don't want Ralph to think you're batty, do you? You like Ralph a lot, don't you? And Piggy, and Jack?"_ The voice echoed within his head. It seemed to enjoy the situation more and more. It thrived in pain, and it seemed like Simon was in mental pain. The voice seemed to know a lot about Simon and the other boys. And Simon must think he was crazy. _Neurosis_. If only Freud was here. He would definitely be able to gain more evidence here if he didn't go crazy first.

"_What are you doing out here all alone? Aren't you afraid of me?_" it whispered. The Doctor flinched. The voice was deliberately provoking Simon and was taking much glee out of it. Trying to take Simon over, like they did Jack, he realized. That was the goal of it, wasn't it? The song screamed in his mind, giddy for the pain that it was causing Simon. The boy shook his head, perhaps trying to clear it. The Doctor pitied him, he didn't know what he was going against.

"_There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast._" The beast? The voice was the beast. Then what was up on the mountain? He thought for a moment. The thing on the mountain wasn't a beast. Or if it was, it was a different beast. But the voice.

Finally he heard Simon's voice, "Pig's head on a stick."

Now the Doctor could confirm what he suspected. Simon could perceive things in a low perception field. Brilliant.

The beast seemed to laugh at Simon's reply. "_Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill. You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?_"

The Doctor shivered. This voice was most definitely not part of anyone. The other voice was a different story. But maybe they were one and the same? The beast, however, could be a manifestation of id within oneself. But there was something off about it. The voice seemed to increase the effects of the human subconscious. It whispered and nudged at all the right places, its pleasant voice convincing people to do things they wanted to in any way they can. But where did it come from? It wasn't natural, this voice. But where'd it come from. Where? He needed answers. He needed to be on top of the game.

_"Come now, get back to the others and we'll forget the whole thing_," the voice said. It wanted to consume Simon; it wanted to make Simon like Jack. But Simon was different; he could perceive low perception fields. He didn't know what would happen if the voice got control of Simon. Bloody hell, his head hurt. He couldn't figure out the source of the voice. The beast—was it the voice the beast? Or was the beast the id, was it human nature? Human consciousness? He didn't even know. He hoped he could piece everything together, he always did (but he definitely pretended to know everything from the beginning, he had a reputation to manage).

"_This is ridiculous. You know perfectly well you'll only meet me down there—so don't try to escape!_" A bit hard to escape something that was constantly in your mind, the Doctor bitterly thought. Brilliant wasn't it?

Simon was shivering and looked about to collapse. He didn't—couldn't understand what was happening in the boy's mind. All the Doctor knew was that this voice was trying to take him over. He hoped Simon could resist. But the voice tried to drown out his thoughts. Maybe the beast wasn't just trying to target Simon. What if it was out to get him too?

"_This has gone quite far enough. My poor, misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?"_ Its voice became impatient and the song roared fiercely. His head felt like it was going to implode from all the noise. Simon's body shook violently as he stared into the cold eyes of the pig's head, which seemed to smile evilly.

"_I'm warning you. I'm going to get angry. D'you see? You're not wanted. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on my poor misguided boy, or else—or else we shall do you. See? Jack and Roger and Maurice and Robert and Bill and Piggy and Ralph. Do you. See?_" The voice screamed in his mind and he dropped down to his knees and became buried in the shadows. Before he passed out he saw Simon collapse unconscious two and a half meters away. His eyes closed and he let the shadows envelop him, but he wouldn't stop fighting.

_~Later~_

The Doctor woke up, his mind free of the song. His head felt pleasantly empty (even if that was generally a bad thing). He pushed himself off the ground and crawled over to Simon's unconscious body. He would wait until Simon woke up and talk to him. He needed to know what the boy thought about the beast and the voice.

After twenty three minutes Simon blearily woke up. "Who are you?" he yawned.

The Doctor blinked. "I'm the Doctor."

"Hello Doctor. When did you get here?" Simon said tiredly.

"In a big blue box, Simon."

"How'd you know my name?" Simon asked curiously.

The Doctor shook his head. They always asked that. They couldn't accept that he knew their name could they. And Simon didn't even ask about the "big blue box" or about his name. "Well, I'm the Doctor. And I've been watching over you boys," he admitted.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

"I couldn't, I really couldn't," said the Doctor guiltily.

"I believe you, Doctor. Did you hear the beast earlier? Or was that just me?" Simon inquired.

"I heard it too. I've been hearing it for a while. The song. But the song is gone for now."

Simon nodded in agreement. "It's gone for me too. I'm glad for it. My head doesn't hurt anymore." He turned around and unsuccessfully tried to muffle a scream. The Doctor assumed that the boy saw the pig's head. Flies had swarmed around and began to consume it. The flesh seemed to be melting off and the white glistening of the bone stood out amongst the red of blood and meat.

The Doctor grabbed Simon into a hug (he seemed to be doing that quite often now, wasn't he?). "It's okay," he said comfortingly. "Everything will be alright."

Simon shook his head. "No, no. The beast. The beast's body. The thing we saw on the mountain. And the voice. The song. What are they, Doctor?"

"I don't know either, but I want to find out. Come with me?" the Doctor stood up and held out his hand. Simon took and pulled himself up.

"Yes, I'd like to find out too."

"Well then, allons-y."

Simon smiled. "What a funny word. What's it mean?"

"It means let's go."

The Doctor smiled and headed off and Simon followed him. They headed towards the mountain. The Doctor fumbled with his fingers, twiddling his thumbs. He was finally going to figure out what the beast really was. He wasn't sure whether he should brace himself for something horrifying or if he should be glad he would finally be able to stop dwelling on it. Eventually they reached the mountain.

"Well, time to walk all the way up," the Doctor said.

Simon smiled. "It'll be alright, we've got each other to talk to. Imagine if I had to do this alone."

"Good thing then, eh? So, shall we, er, march on ahead?"

Instead of replying Simon rushed up the path leaving the Doctor to follow him. The creepers all along the path tried to barricade him from continuing on, but he managed to step around them, helping Simon pass through the ones that grew wilder. As they walked the winding path up the mountain, Simon seemed to get more nervous anticipating the beast. The Doctor would occasionally reassure him. As they neared the top of the mountain Simon halted in his progress, refusing to move on.

"Simon, what's wrong?" the Doctor asked.

"I can't. What if I don't want to know what's up there?" he trembled.

"It's okay. We can go back down if you—"

Simon broke in. "No, I have to see. I need to know if the voice was telling the truth. Is there really a beast or is it just in me?"

The Doctor bent down and looked Simon in the eyes. "The beast isn't within you. He isn't you, if that's what you're thinking. You're not crazy. You have some, ah, desire within you, but the beast makes you want to do bad things. You're not the beast. Alright?"

Simon mumbled in agreement. "Alright," he said more clearly, "Let's go. I'm-I'm ready."

Simon walked behind the Doctor grabbing at his suit, only peeking out on some occasions. The Doctor acted as confident about the situation as he could. As he began to be able to see where the beast had been sitting that other night, the wind picked up, howling up on the high mountain. The song once again burst in his ears as he saw a horrifying sight. A corpse. A dead body. The beast wasn't alive. It was a dead man. Laughter echoed around the island. _Scared now?_ it menacingly whispered.

The Doctor knew when Simon had seen the "beast" when he heard a scream and a thud as Simon fell on the ground, covering his ears.

"Stop, stop," he begged. "It's too loud. It hurts. Doctor make it stop."

The Doctor kneeled down beside the boy. "It's okay, Simon," he whispered. "Just look at it. It's no more than a dead body. Well, an old and decomposing one, but those are minor details."

Even as he said those words, the wind blew even harder and a hissing noise (like something was being inflated) came to reach the Doctor's ears. At the sound of that, Simon buried his head in the Doctor's long coat. The Doctor looked around for the origin of the noise, but only saw a parachute—wait a second. The parachute. The corpse had moved, because it was connected to the parachute. The movement from the other night must have been from the parachute lifting the dead body. What sheer coincidence, he thought, that the wind happened to inflate the parachute just as they were up on the mountain.

Simon shivered besides him, quivering, holding his hands to his ears. "The song is louder, so much louder. And it hurts."

"Simon, look at it. Really look at it. It's dead, it's not going to hurt anyone."

"But it moved," protested Simon. "I saw it, honest."

"I know it did, but look. It's just the parachute. Ingenious coincidence that is. When the wind blows it makes the parachute inflate, and so the body moves with it."

Simon looked at it as if he were afraid it would jump out and attack him and the Doctor, but when it didn't, he bravely took a step outward towards it. "Why, it is just a dead body," he said.

He nodded. "Yeup. Nothing to be worried about. Except maybe the smell," he wrinkled his nose.

"What are we doing here, just standing around? We need to get rid of it!"

"What do you mean get rid—Oi! Simon, what are you doing?" the Doctor halted in his question when Simon answered it for him. The boy raced across towards the dead body and removed the tangled strings of the parachute. The wind howled and blew the parachute, casting away the dead body onto the wind. It flew away in the hard wind like a demented angel. He wondered how the other boys were going to react to it.

"Now, Doctor, now all we have to do is tell the other boys that the beast is gone. That beast, at least. The song's still here." Simon announced triumphantly.

"They won't believe you, nothing good will come out of this. No Simon, we mustn't."

"I'm sorry Doctor, but I must disagree with you this time," Simon apologized.

"No, don't," the Doctor told him, but Simon had already begun sprinting down the mountainside, practically tumbling down. He hurried down after Simon, but couldn't catch up. Simon's size made it easier to maneuver around the trees.

"Simon!" the Doctor called, but he got no reply.

"Simon," he tried again. In the distance he heard chanting.

"_Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!_" the boys cried. No, no. It couldn't be happening. Not now. Which beast? He had to find out what was going on as soon as possible.

He heard Simon's voice cry, "You don't have to kill the beast guys, it's already dead. It was really just a dead man on a hill. Stop it. Lower your weapons."

But his voice was drowned by the sudden flood of the song within his temple. Laughter ensued as screams filled the air. Growls and snarls could be heard amongst the screams. Simon, he thought desperately. Simon. No, no Simon. What happened to him? The shouts died as the rain began to drop from above. Red blood tinted the sand, and a body lay close to the ocean. The parachute and its body floated across and landed in the water to be thrown further into the ocean by wild currents. Rain continued to pour as the boys started to leave. The Doctor ran down to look at the body. As he approached it he almost cried out. Tears filled his eyes. There lay Simon's dead body, mutilated in death, blood staining every inch of the dead boy's body. The boy had only wanted to help the others, he wanted to give them good news, but what did he get in return? Death. A horrible death. He was mistaken for the beast itself and killed. If only he had been a little bit faster on stopping him. But he hadn't. Why had the others done this to him? Why? It was unfair. He did nothing. He wanted to do nothing but good.

The Doctor could no longer look at Simon's body. He saw the tide was rising, and he knew Simon's body would be casted off by the waves into the ocean. But he couldn't do anything more but close Simon's boy and leave. _Give up hope_ the voice feebly tried to whisper in his mind. _Give up and leave there's nothing you can do for these boys. He didn't want to join me, so he dies._ But the voice and the song were lost as his sorrow washed over him. He slumped back to the TARDIS, wishing he had at least shown Simon what it was like inside, or who he really was. But the boy hadn't even asked.


	7. Chapter 7: A Pig Not a Sheep

Chapter 7: A Pig Not a Sheep

The Doctor had moped around after Simon's death. He couldn't get the images of Simon's poor mutilated body after he had died at the wild rabid horde of piranha-like boys. He remembered how the song had overwhelmed him and laughter ensued from the depths of the island. It had eaten up the unnatural glee that the boys probably felt as they attacked and killed Simon. He shuddered at the memory. And he had no one to help him through all of this. They were all gone, they all had left him. He was going to go mad. If only Rose was here. She'd crack and joke and make him laugh and forget about everything. But she wasn't here and he'd have to make do without her. He should have taken Donna's advice earlier and found someone else to travel with him.

He clasped the book he had been reading loudly. He needed to get out and stop being so depressed. He wasn't getting anything done by just reading. And if he had to wait until someone to locate the tracker, he'd make his waiting productive. He put down his book and marched outside. But as soon as he had taken a single step outside he heard voices.

The Doctor couldn't hear the entire conversation, but only caught snippets of it. He heard Ralph and Piggy (the rather chubby boy with the glasses) talking about some sort of attack and about how they had taken the specs. He assumed they were talking about Jack and the others when the boys mentioned "they". He briefly heard Piggy unsuccessfully trying to yell something at Ralph about how he was blind and how he was going up to Jack and demand his specs back. Before long, he heard stomps heading towards his direction. Bloody hell. What could he do? The TARDIS was right there, he couldn't just—his thought was cut off as he instinctively dove into the bush and hid there. He mentally smacked his forehead. Diving into the bush wouldn't have helped. Now he was stuck. Piggy would soon reach the TARDIS and wonder what a blue police box was doing in the middle of a deserted island.

So when Piggy arrived the clearing, he saw the police box, his jaw dropped in surprise. "What's a police box doing here on an island? My aunt says they're only in England," Piggy wondered aloud.

Cursing under his breath, the Doctor stood up, knowing that the damage was already done. "Why, it's here because I flew it here."

Piggy's eyes widened and his jaw dropped even further, his fat body trembling. He muttered, "My auntie says I am not allowed to talk to strangers."

The Doctor blinked, "Well a bit too late now, isn't it?"

"I mustn't talk. Not even to an adult," Piggy closed his eyes. "When I open my eyes there won't be a police box there, and the man will be gone. I've just gone mad. Yes. Yes. It's all a dream."

The Doctor shrugged. This might make things easier for him. Piggy wouldn't tell anyone, he didn't have to be worried about it. The boy would think he's gone mad. He began to edge his way back to the TARDIS (where he would just slip off to a different part of the island) when Piggy opened his eyes. Brilliant.

"Hello," he said, waving his hand cheerfully. "I'm still here. Very real, I think." He poked himself a few times to be sure.

"Wait. You're an adult. Can you get us off the island? I think my auntie would be alright if you were a good guy. I'm Piggy. What's your name?" Piggy held out his hand like a little gentleman.

The Doctor enthusiastically shook the little hand. "I'm the Doctor. Pleased to meet you."

"Doctor Who?"

"Just the Doctor," he chuckled.

"What's so funny? It's rude to laugh unless everyone thinks it's funny," Piggy reprimanded.

The Doctor shook his head, amused. "Nothing, just a little joke."

Piggy glared suspiciously at the Doctor before clearing his throat and continuing, Can you get us off the island? They've already killed Simon. We need a way off the island now, _Doctor_."

The Doctor gritted his teeth. "I'm working on it."

Piggy scowled. "Well hurry it up," he snapped. "My auntie will be worrying and it's dangerous here. She wouldn't like it."

How annoying, he thought. This boy was more seeped with superego than James had been—and not in a good way either. He took a deep breath. Piggy didn't seem to be much of a fun converser. He could be interesting, the Doctor thought optimistically. Hopefully, he mentally added to not disappoint himself.

Piggy tried to snap his fingers to regain the Doctor's attention. "Tell me, Doctor. Do you have a plan at all?"

"In fact, I do," the Doctor retorted. "It's already been set off, so you don't fret, my dear Piggy."

Piggy flinched, frowning. "No need to be so harsh. My auntie never liked it when I was that harsh."

The Doctor desperately wanted to shake the boy and tell him to loosen up. He was so bent on following the rules. To the point that it was so bloody annoying. But every genius (himself included) knew that after learning the rules came the fun part: breaking them. That was the fun part, finding loopholes and cleverly toeing the line. The boy was too focused on staying in the middle path. Now that was no fun.

"Piggy," he said calmly, but his voice was harder than normal. "You don't have to follow the rules so closely. Have you ever had some more fun?"

"My auntie—"

"Piggy. Can you shut up about your auntie for one minute? Think about yourself. What about yourself? Your own thoughts. Think, Piggy. Think for yourself."

Piggy looked almost in tears. The Doctor calmed down and tried to comfort the boy.

"I don't know, I don't know," Piggy wailed.

"Let's both calm down, Piggy," he suggested.

Piggy nodded and his breathes came out ragged. "My as-asthma-"he rasped.

The Doctor didn't know what to do so he shrugged, "You'll get over it."

"My auntie—" he began but stopped himself. "Really?"

The Doctor nodded, "Hopefully."

Piggy seemed to cheer up immensely. "I can't wait for that to happen. Ralph always told me, 'sucks to your as-mar'" he imitated.

The Doctor laughed. "Now you're getting it. Isn't it fun?'

"But I lost my glasses. I'm blind," he cried.

The Doctor wanted to go back to into the TARDIS and slam the door in Piggy's face. What was wrong with this boy? He was so close. So close.

"Just-just calm down Piggy."

"I'll try."

"Would you like to tell me what happened?" he reluctantly offered.

Piggy nodded vigorously. "Jack and the rest of those savages stole into our huts near dawn and stole my glasses and attacked us. Those bastards."

He raised an eyebrow. Piggy must've felt strongly about the situation. If someone stole his glassed he'd be very upset, so he understood.

"Would you like to get your glasses back, Piggy?"

Piggy grinned, "Yes, most definitely."

"Well, you can return to Ralph and the others and they can help—"

"What about you?" Piggy interrupted. "It would be better if you were there with me. They wouldn't go against an adult. "

The Doctor shook his head. "I can't interfere, Piggy. You must do some things for yourself. "

"Then why reveal yourself?" Piggy asked angrily.

"I didn't," the Doctor argued.

"As I recalled, you showed yourself after leaping from the bushes," countered Piggy.

"You discovered the TARDIS. What else was I supposed to do? Let you destroy her?" the Doctor spat. He wasn't about to let a boy play around with _his _TARDIS. He clenched his fingers. The song began in his mind, softly humming. _Go ahead and abandon them. Help won't come…_

"You-you," Piggy sputtered. "Alright, you win. My head hurts."

The Doctor perked up. "It hurts? Is it like a song?"

"Yes. How'd you know?"

Ignoring him the Doctor cursed. "Don't listen to it. Ignore it. It's evil—it's the beast."

"No-no. It can't be. Simon…" he faltered. "Simon said the beast was gone."

The Doctor shook his head, "I was there when we discovered the dead body. That what you lot thought the beast was. But in reality, the beast is that voice—that song in your mind. It makes you do bad things—it makes _you_ the beast."

Piggy blanched. "No-no."

"Then explain how Jack and the others changed. From boys to savages," he challenged.

"I-I-"

"Exactly. Believe me, Piggy, "the Doctor continued solemnly.

"So you let Simon die."

The Doctor darkened. How dare Piggy accuse him of causing Simon's death. He was the one who regretted Simon's death the most. He was the one who looked at the body, the one who made sure he _was _dead. The one who mourned him as a person instead of just the one who had been killed. "How-how _dare you_?"

Piggy took a step back, knowing he had angered the Doctor. "I-I'm sorry."

The Doctor took deep breaths. Calm down. Piggy didn't mean it. He was just saying rash things. "It's alright. I-I forgive you." he breathed.

Piggy numbly bobbed his head, "I-I guess I'll go back to Ralph and Samneric now."

The Doctor didn't say anything as Piggy walked off. He saw Ralph hand Piggy a conch and they walked off towards what he assumed to be where Jack and the others were to demand the specs back. The Doctor stalked off after them, curious to see it being played out. He followed them to the fruit trees where they stopped to eat. As he ate his bananas (and boy did he love his bananas), he heard them complaining about their hygiene and discuss about being rescued. He heard Piggy say something needing smoke to be rescued. Evidently he had no faith in the Doctor. The Doctor sighed, but it was probably what he got for snapping at Piggy. He shuffled around awkwardly waiting for the boys to finish gorging themselves on the tropical fruit. He found a piece of cloth on one of the branches. He excitedly reached out for it. Just through his hands, he could feel how dirty and worn out it was. But even though it was old and dirty he could make out the image that had once decorated whatever piece of clothing it was originally from:

He blanched. He knew exactly what Torchwood Institute was. And the worst part was that it matched up with the design he had found that first day on the container. It was _them_. It was always them. He balled his fists. They could possibly ruin everything. But why do this? Why strand the boys on the island? What could they possibly be looking for? He thought back to the instructions. They were looking to capture a "him". A him. Or perhaps him, as in himself. As in the Doctor. Bloody hell. That's what they were after all along wasn't it? It was always him. Hadn't Torchwood ruin his life enough already—with causing the rift to open and Rose to fall into that parallel world? He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to stop thinking about it. Now was not the time. Later.

After the boys' lunch, they had set off to the beach. The Doctor walked a few seconds' time after them. They were too preoccupied to notice him. He saw smoke rising from the distance. He decided he should probably hide within the bushes to prevent someone (like Jack) to see him. As he crawled into the brush, he realized that it was the same place where he met Arthur—and where Arthur had died. Or rather, right below it. He saw Ralph blow the conch and heard other boys gather to look at the source of the noise.

He heard Piggy's voice, loud and clear say, "I'm calling an assembly."

But the savages wouldn't let them in because Jack had told them not too. Soon after, Jack appeared behind Ralph and Piggy. The boys began to argue and fight, and the Doctor was debating whether to interrupt or not. He started to run closer to the boys, but was halted by the many branches and trees that grew. He heard shouting and clanging, but didn't pause to see what exactly was going on. By the time he had reached the boys, he felt a vibration in the earth and the song began to strike his ears, the beat louder than both his heartbeats. He heard a rumbling noise and looked up to see a rock from a top of the cliff roll down. In a flash, it was down to the ground and it had struck Piggy, killing the poor boy right in front of him (again, he was surely marked as a bad-luck charmed right now), and the voice laughed cruelly. The Doctor saw the rock go over the cliff, taking Piggy's body away with it into the sea. The conch that Piggy had been holding disintegrated into dust. _The rules are gone. Hope is lost_.

The Doctor dejectedly shook his head and began to walk off. It _was _his fault that they all died, wasn't it? He heard Jack yell something about being leader, but he ignored it. He was not in the mood to deal with Jack—the only boy he had talked to who survived, but was suffering through something that was surely worse than death itself.


	8. Chapter 8: Repercussions and Discussions

Chapter 8: Repercussions and Discussions

The Doctor had never enjoyed watching something play out, especially if he couldn't do anything. And he couldn't do anything now. All he could do was wait. He knew that Torchwood Institute should be tracking him or the tracker, whichever was the case, and will hopefully rescue the kids when they arrived at the island to find that the Doctor wasn't on it. He kicked the ground. Perhaps, he wouldn't have been this angst ridden and be more eager to help the kids if _she _was still with him. Rose had always brought out the better in him. She did help him recover from the Time War when he was his previous regeneration. He briefly looked up and saw a ship in the distance. He hoped that ship was coming after the tracker's signal.

A noise in the forest behind him startled him but he didn't look up. He was for sure it was one of the many pigs running around. He couldn't care less for them, not anymore. Every time he saw one of them he thought of the desire for killing the children had acquired. It sickened him. The noise grew louder, but the Doctor continued to ignore it.

"Who-who _are _you?"

The Doctor turned around. It was Ralph. Now the boy was going to die. It was always like that. Or he could be taken over by the song. He sincerely hoped that if it had to be one of the two that it was the former. He couldn't do anything right. He always caused trouble and death for everyone he met. Why was that? What was wrong with him? He tried his best at everything. He always did everything he could. But it was never enough, was it? The universe always wanted more. It was never satisfied with him. And he was doomed to be the last. He stood there, arms by his sides, looking aimlessly at the landscape.

"Hello? Can you understand me? Who _are _you?" Ralph asked again.

"I-I'm the Do-Doctor." His voice was dry and sounded so unused. He had enough of everything. He had enough of the island. Of the stupid song (which was thankfully gone). Of the beast. Of the children dying. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed someone to help him. But he didn't have a companion. And he wouldn't have another. They always died. The island had proved that for him well enough. He didn't need another repeat. He'd already killed enough people as it is already.

"Doctor? Doctor Who? Can you help us get off this blasted island?" Ralph pleaded, both with his eyes and mouth. The Doctor could feel the hope bleeding out of Ralph's questions. But his hope had already drained out of him. He couldn't do anything about it. He should just take off in his TARDIS and leave the tracker here and hope that Torchwood would find it and rescue the kids. But he knew Rose wouldn't have wanted him to do that. She would have wanted him to stay. At least, that's what he thought she would have done. He couldn't know for sure thanks to bloody Torchwood.

"Well…I can't. Actually I, er, have a _plan, _if you will call it that. It's just-just taking much longer than expected. I suppose I can't get everything my way, can I, Ralph—may I call you that?"

"Su-sure…I guess. What else would you call me—_wait_ how did you know my name? What do you mean 'much longer than expected'? Exactly how long have you been here?" Ralph asked curiously.

The Doctor shifted his feet, rubbing his Converse along the sandy—well more like gravely—beach. He shifted uncomfortable, guilt crashing down on him. Everything was _his _fault. He didn't need a mere _child _chastising him for it. He knew it, damn it. He didn't need any more reminders about everything. The boys, the Time War, and _Rose_. It was all his fault. They were all his fault. Perhaps, perhaps. The Doctor ran his hand threw his hair and ruffled it a bit.

"E-excuse me, sir? Doctor sir?"

"What?" the Doctor snapped. He saw Ralph's eyes flood with immediate tears, one which fell from his left eye, just before Ralph ran off. Just like Piggy, he thought bitterly. What was with him, he chastised himself. Making little boys cry? He was no better than the villains he had "defeated." He felt awful about himself. The song began to sing gleefully in his ears. _Give in, Doctor. Give in. There's nothing you can do now. _But no. He had to make peace with Ralph—the ego, he remembered Freud saying.

He ran after Ralph. "Wait," he called. "Wait! Ralph, I'm sorry. I-I was just—"

"What is it, _Doctor_? What am I to you? You said something about a _plan_, was it? Was that so called "plan" of yours to strand us on this island? Because that's what I think because you haven't answered any of _my _questions. I answered yours. Can't you return a favor? I don't know much about you, but you're sounding awful selfish right about now."

"I-I-I'm sorry," the Doctor sighed. "It's just. Everything's been _my _fault, you know? You get placed in charge and suddenly, everything's your fault, from the smallest things to the bigger ones. And then it happens so often that you begin to realize, maybe it _is_ your fault. You've just been denying it. And I-I just lost someone close to me. And it was _all my bloody fault_. I'm so stupid. Rose—oh Rose."

"I know how you feel. I just lost someone, just recently…Piggy was his name. And I got blamed for everything too. The boys, that group of boys. They've been so overcome with this _desire_, this-this _instinct_ that is driving them insane. They killed him. They killed him, Doctor. I saw it. They've taken Sam and Eric as well. And it's all my fault. I know the feeling, Doctor. You're not alone." The boys were oddly comforting. His voice seemed to block out the song from his head. But Piggy was a bitter reminder of how his attitude had changed. He had given up on the boys, hadn't he when he met Piggy. That's why he had been so harsh on the poor boy. That and Piggy didn't do much to help his case.

"Oh, Ralph. I've been so very alone. All my life. Wondering around. I'm the last," he paused, trying to brighten the mood. "Well, now that all the feelings have been shuffled around, destroyed, and crushed. Let me answer your questions. Now what was it that you asked me? I seem to have forgotten. Let me get out my glasses." He took his glasses out of his pocket. "Ah! Here we are. Now, ask me again."

"Oh, erm, well what sort of plan did you mention? And-and how long have you been here? I don't know, but I feel that you know an awful lot about us." Ralph eagerly questioned. He seemed to thirst for knowledge but in a good way. He wanted to know to solve things logically. How very much like the ego Freud had described what seemed like ages ago. Freud was incredibly right with his descriptions.

"Well, I've been here quite a while. Almost for the entire show—no, no it's not a real show, that's just a saying. I've been, ah, keeping an eye out for things. I just—I suppose—haven't shown myself for a while—at least to you. I've talked to some of the other boys. James, Arthur, Jack, Simon, Piggy."

"What about me? Seems like I've been missing out on a party?"

"Oh no," the Doctor reassured. "I talked to them one by one. But then they died—well Jack didn't die, per se, but he became more of a savage, so same difference."

"Oh, but why didn't you try to talk to me?" asked Ralph, who was slightly put off.

"I didn't really talk to them on purpose. More like they bumped into me at the _worse_ times, you know?"

"Actually I don't know. Why didn't you just-just reveal yourself to all of us? Wouldn't it have been easier that way?"

"Well, it would have been a bit _counterproductive_ and a lot of trouble_,_ but you wouldn't understand."

Ralph seemed to brighten up a bit, cracking a smile and saying, "Try me. I've a knack for figuring this sort of thing out logically."

"Alright, alright. Let's see. It would have caused trouble and then I would have to take care of all of you. And it would be problematic and well… I'm a bit of a, ah, traveler, you might say. I've got a ship—"

"A ship? Can you get us out of here, then?" Ralph broke in eagerly, displacing much of his logic for desire.

"Well, I was just getting there. It's not exactly as _ship _ship, see? How do I begin to explain this? If I explain it, it could cause all sorts of problems. But if I don't you'll be left without any explanation. _Bother_."

The Doctor paced back and forth for a few minutes, the look in his eyes keeping Ralph from talking anymore. He muttered under his breath. Now that he knew it was Torchwood, he couldn't explain it properly. They might make Ralph tell him all about the Doctor. And he couldn't put such a pressure on one child. But Ralph was smart. He could lie well enough, couldn't he? Ralph sat there, picking at the rocks at his feet. After another moment or two the Doctor began to speak.

"Ralph. If I tell you this, will you promise to keep it to yourself, and don't tell anyone. No one at all, _understand_?"

Ralph eagerly nodded. "Yes, Doctor, sir."

He chuckled. "Just Doctor will do. I suppose I should do a short version. We don't have much time left, hopefully," he paused to scan the horizon, and as soon as he spotted the ship he continued. "Well, I'm not any ordinary wonderer, I'm a time traveler."

"Really? You travel through time? How do you do that?"

"Well, yes, time _and _space. And I do it in my TARDIS, that's Time And Relative Dimension In Space. I'm about a thousand years old, and I guess, I've been traveling for a while. Throughout my travels I like to travel with friends, makes everything more interesting, you know?"

"Blimey. I'd like to travel with you."

"Well alright! Maybe I'd drop by and pick you up in a few years. You've got to be a bit older. Anywhosits, I was flying through space, trying to get back to Earth when I crashed here. And of course that's when my TARDIS decided to have a temper tantrum and made me stay put. Although, between you and me, I don't think I'd leave anyways, even without her breaking down."

"Your ship is female?"

"Yup! It's alive alright," he said cheerfully.

"Wait, but I thought you said you liked to travel with friends. Where's your friend?"

"I-I-I…"

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Was Rose your companion? Was she the one you lost? Was she nice?" How'd he know about Rose? He thought he only briefly mentioned her name once. The boy was clearly very clever. Very conscious about everything too.

He sighed. "Yes. Recently too. And she was one of the nicest people I've ever met. She was brilliant. She would always make you feel better, and you would always want her there. _I _always wanted her with me. We had some brilliant adventures, Ralph. We saved the world a fair few times as well. And she was beautiful. And, she loved me. And I-I-I-"

To the Doctor's surprise, Ralph—filthy clothes and all—came up to him and hugged him. He felt a wetness on his chest where Ralph was crying onto it.

"I'm sorry that you had to lose her. She seems like a wonderful person. I'm sure she knew you loved her, Doctor. I just. I know how you feel. Piggy's death, it killed me on the inside. But you know what? We've got to keep on going, for them. They wouldn't have wanted us to live as a shell of us, just mourning them. That-that's not fair to their memory."

"Oh Ralph. Maybe I should just take you with me. In the TARDIS. With me. Maybe we can have adventures of our own. Blimey, you are quite smart for your age."

Ralph shook his head. "No, no that was all Piggy. I'm just-just Ralph. Plain old Ralph."

The Doctor grinned. "Well, I'm just plain old me. Plain old Doctor. Allons-y!"

"Allons-y?"

"It means let's go."

"What do you mean, 'let's go'? Are you-are you taking me with you?"

"Perhaps. But I think you'd rather get home to your parents."

"What do you mean?"

The Doctor gestured to the ship that was nearly docking near the edge of the island. "Look, there. There's a ship. It's ready to take you home. You must gather all the other kids, and take them home with you. Or-or you could leave with me." The Doctor stuck his hands in his long coat. He could see bright flames beginning to lick the island. Smoke clouded the air. Well, that would make the cover story a lot easier, wouldn't it? The boys would assume the ship saw their smoke (and Ralph could just pretend).

"I-I, I'm sorry Doctor. But I must go home. Like you said, maybe in a few years. But right now, I think my family needs me."

"That's quite alright Ralph. I knew you would pick that way. You're a smart boy. I'd pick the same way, if I were you. But I can't. I'm doomed to wonder." The Doctor tried to smile. Gesturing at the fire, he continued, "The smoke and fire will cover up the tracker. That's what that ship down there. They used the tracker to find used to find you lot—or more specifically me. The ship is full of people who want information on me. Don't tell them anything. Lie or they will hurt you and your family, alright? Just pretend that you think the fire led them to you. And no matter what they tell you, you must remember, they aren't telling the truth."

Ralph gave the Doctor another hug. "Alright. Maybe we'll see each other again, someday," he tried to reassure himself. "I think we could've really gotten along. I hope you find someone to travel with while you're waiting for me."

The Doctor smiled and hugged the boy back. "Oh Ralph. I'll come back. I'll-I'll—give me your address."

And so Ralph did. And the Doctor swore to visit him, at least once. "I'll come back, I'll want to see you again, see how successful you've grown."

"And by then, maybe you'll have another friend. And we can all travel the universe together."

"Maybe—Ralph! The ship's docking. People are coming out. Remember," the Doctor grabbed Ralph's shoulder to look him in the eyes, "Remember, you are not to tell no one. Especially not the people from the boat. They will try to take you away from your family to get information on me."

"Why though, what could they possibly want from an innocent time traveler?"

"Well, it might be the fact that I'm an alien, now shoo, I must get back to the TARDIS and leave immediately. They've come to find me, but they won't let kids die, hopefully at any rate."

"Alien? What?"

"Yes, I'm a Time Lord. That's why I can travel through time." The Doctor winked. "Now hurry. Gather the kids. There's a ship that's waiting to sail home."

Ralph grinned. "I'll see you again, someday. Promise me, Doctor."

"I promise. Now go. And don't talk about me to anyone, but don't forget me."

"I won't. I don't think I could ever forget you."

"Now hurry. Allons-y!"

"To our respective places."

"Well, yes, but that ruins the purpose of a catchphrase."

Ralph began to walk off, but the Doctor called out for him, "Wait! Ralph, do you hear a song in your head? One that sounds so beautiful, but it whispers evil things in your ear?"

Ralph shook his head. "I've never heard any voice or heard any song. I heard some other boys talking about it, but no. I've never heard of such things."

"That's quite odd. I think you're too good for your own good. Be glad for it, Ralph," the Doctor winked. The song that had run through his had disappeared sometime while he was talking to Ralph even if he hadn't noticed at the time. He would never really know what caused the song, and it would haunt him for a while, but he knew that there would always be someone out there that could block out the music.

Ralph laughed and ran off to find the other children. The Doctor glanced at him fondly. The boy sure made for good conversation. The Doctor walked to the TARDIS. When he got there, he came in, not surprised to see the systems on as if they were eagerly waiting him. The Doctor proceeded to turn on all the systems, and the TARDIS vanished from the island, never to return.


End file.
